


Collared

by selfmanic



Series: Head Cannon - Clint Barton [11]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mutism, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Submission, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfmanic/pseuds/selfmanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is sold from the Circus at the age of 15 to a gun runner. He lives there for years as the man’s assassin, body guard, and sex slave. He’s rescued by Shield but at this point is conditioned to react in certain ways to his former master. It takes years working for Shield but he makes a life of his own. Loki breaks him all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch. 1

#  Ch. 1

 

                Clint tried to settle into his restraints with a suppressed huff of silent air, he never knew when Cross was listening. The last time he’d spoken was almost eight years ago now; instead he wrote out notes for the other guards or used military hand signals when he needed to get his message across. On good days he’d get up exercise, make Cross breakfast, attend to him throughout the day and warm his bed at night before retiring to his own tiny closet for a few hours rest. If he had a mission was even better since it meant days away from Cross while he tracked his target.

Today wasn’t a good day. A government agency had been harassing Cross’ business deals for the last few months and making him more irritable than normal. When Cross was angry he took it out on everyone around him but especially Clint. Cross spent the morning receiving reports of burned out warehouses and shipping containers that had went missing or were seized in police raids. His deals were steadily falling apart as people backed out, sensing that Cross was on the way down. By noon he’d screamed at everyone he could reach, ranting and fuming over the assets lost. Clint had been beaten heavily and left in a corner of the office to bleed until close of business.

                Clint dragged himself after Cross when he left for the day and served him dinner while fighting to walk without a limp, Cross would only punish him worse if he showed injuries. After dinner he was sent to Cross’ quarters and tortured for the rest of the night until his master was tired. He was left hanging limp from the chains, but lowered to his knees so he could at least rest a little. He knew it would start back up in the morning, it normally took a few days for Cross to work his way out of a snit and Clint had the scars to prove it.

                He dozed, half leaning against the wall, jolting when the alarms started blaring early the next morning. Cross rushed out of his bedroom half-dressed and barking commands into a phone as he jogged out of the suite without even a glance for Clint. An explosion shook the building soon after and Clint stumbled to his feet fighting with the cuffs, he was supposed to be helping not chained to a wall.

                A warning buzz sounded from the control collar around his neck and Clint froze, immediately slowing his breathing and trying to get his heart rate to drop. If his heart rate went over a certain threshold without Cross overriding the settings it would turn on the pain amplifier. Clint had years of practice and even as his hands worried the electronic cuffs his heart rate plummeted, the last thing he needed was the muscle cramps and seizures that a long jolt from the collar would cause.

                An explosion ripped through the room, flinging him to the floor hard. Pieces of masonry and debris rained down around him as he dazedly fought to keep his eyes open, ears ringing. He watched stunned, blood filling his mouth as fighters clad in black Kevlar moved into the suite and quickly secured each room. He was too busy fighting to breath and untangle himself from the fall to do more than watch as one approached, gun at the ready.

His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the gun level at his chest. He felt the warning buzz of the collar but couldn’t do anything but gasp for air and weakly cough as the dust from the explosion settled around him. A second flashlight trailed his twisted body pausing on his bloody back and the collar, they said something into a com line but his ears were still ringing from the blast and he couldn’t make it out.

He never heard the final warning tone before the pain amplifier activated. Clint had been tortured for years with the collar and thanks to his exposure it was always set to maximum. The pain poured down his spine like acid bowing his back and making his muscles convulse. Through it all he never made a sound, the sudden shouts of the fighters and the ring of the chains on the wall covering even the small gasps for air that left his throat.

It finally ended and he hung limp against the wall. He could vaguely feel someone fiddling with his cuffs but didn’t connect it to anything until he was suddenly grabbed and lowered onto a cloth stretcher. He watched in a daze, muscles shivering and twitching as a medic checked him over and gave him a shot of something that sent him sliding into the dark.

***

“I wasn’t expecting you to come back with pets, Phil.” Fury said coming into the medical bay where Phil was stationed watching a doctor repair the young man’s back.

“We thought he was a servant to Cross at first but in questioning the guards we captured all claim he was Cross’ personal slave and sniper.”

“You think that’s Hawkeye?” Fury asked glancing back at the young man on the stretcher. “He’s barely twenty.”

“Twenty two, we ran his prints. His name’s Clinton Francis Barton. He was orphaned at eight thanks to a drunk driving accident and at nine both he and his brother ran away and joined the circus. At fifteen he disappeared completely, two years later we started getting rumors of Cross using a sniper and assassin that preferred a bow and arrows to gun but could use them just as efficiently if pressed.”

“You think Cross kept him since a year or so after the circus?”

“If not immediately after; he’s got scars on his neck from the control collar and whip marks on this back that are years old. I think Cross has held him as a slave for more than seven years but only Barton can confirm that.”

“You want him as an asset I take it?”

“Hawkeye’s been on our radar for years as a possible asset. Considering his youth he might be able to be conditioned out of any training Cross gave him.”

“That could take years.” Fury pointed out with a grunt as the doctor finished bandaging the young man and came over.

“How is he, Dr. Richards?” Phil asked with a slight smile, he’d always liked the older woman, she was a no nonsense doctor who could force the most belligerent soldier to back down but also had a gentle bedside manner when needed.

“For all the injuries he’s one of the fitter young men I’ve treated, agents included. He could be an Olympic athlete if you ignored the scars.”

“And his injuries?”

“52 stitches for the whip marks on his back; Most are over previous scars and I’d say he’s been whipped at least this bad once a year for several years given the depth of the scars. He also was raped or had sex with no to minimal preparation in the last twenty four hours, I’ve sent samples for testing but it might be too late for DNA. He has extensive anal scarring as well so this wasn’t a once off thing. He’s got heavy calluses on both hands, gun and something else. He also has healed boxer's fractures to his wrists and hands so he’s definitely a fighter.”

“How long until he can be questioned?” Fury pushed, needing a time frame.

“Normally I’d give it a few days for recovery but he’s already coming out of the sedation. We’ve given him three times the recommended dose and I’d rather not increase it again. He fought us when we tried to give him the last dose and broke one orderlies wrist. Once he wakes up and manages to keep a meal down, he’s all yours.”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not a word and that includes sounds of pain. One of the orderlies got him into a nerve hold and he didn’t even blink.”

“Really?”

“I already checked his vocal cords and he is able to speak, he’s just choosing not to.”

“Or he’s been conditioned not to; I’ll add it to my list of questions for the other guards.” Phil said with a sigh turning back to the sleeping man.  “Thank you, Dr. Richards. I’ll get several agents in to help move him to his new quarters. We may need you or one of the medics to continue to check his wounds, however.”

“I figured as much.” She said with a snort, gathering up her tablet and heading out the room, “Just tell me where and I’ll set up a schedule of appointments.”

“You sure you want to take on a project this big, Cheese? There’s no guarantee that he’s going to be able to overcome the conditioning.”

“If he’s able to work as an assassin and sniper for Cross he should be able to work for us.” Phil said firmly keeping his tone confident even as his stomach ached to watch the young man rock himself like a mental patient.

“You’ve got six months to show some sort of progress. We’ll reassess his place in the department after that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, my ass. Why do I have the feeling I just agreed to let a feral dog into the house?” Fury said with a snort, moving out of the room with a snap of his leather coat.


	2. Ch. 2

#  Ch. 2

 

Clint ignored the suit standing in the corner as his back was checked and rebandaged. The doctor disliked the fact that he kept tearing out his stitches but he had nothing to do but exercise or sit and wait for his meals. He pulled the shirt they’d given him back on ignoring the tug of tape and stitches to make the motion smooth and normal; he was too used to working around pain to show any reaction.

He’d already stolen a pair of scissors the first day he woke up but kept an eye out for a better weapon to grab. He was surprised no one had strip searched the room or himself yet. He eyed the agent again and settled into the stillness that drove most of the other people trying to question him crazy.

“Thank you, Dr. Richards.” the suit said from his corner stepping forwards as the doctor finished packing up her kit. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson; I’ve been assigned your case with Shield. I’ll be the one you come to if you’re having any issues.”

“This is for you to keep.” He said tossing a notebook with a pen clipped to the cover on the bed next to Clint when he didn’t react, “If you have anything you want to say or need just show it to one of the guards or myself and we’ll try to accommodate you.”

Clint merely blinked at him for several long moments before the agent continued.

“I need you to realize that you’re not here as a prisoner. If you attack anyone or refuse to cooperate you will be subject to revoked privileges that you will have to earn back. You won’t be physically harmed.” he said pausing and taking a seat in a chair next to the wall.

“We know you were not working willingly for Cross and once you’re healed we would like to offer you a position within Shield, to do that we need to access your abilities and education.” He said with a slight downturn of his lips when Clint didn’t react at all, Clint noted absently watching the suit from the corner of one eye, “Starting tomorrow you will be taken to a testing room for several hours each day. Bring the notebook with you.”

                The man left him to think and he wasn’t bothered for the rest of the day. His meals were brought in and left to one side of the cot but he ignored them, running things through his mind. His options weren’t good. Cross was on the run and would probably shoot Clint if he did manage to escape and show up. It had been almost eight years since he’d been in the circus and even with his rusty skills no one was going to take him on as more than a roustabout or hired hand, if that.

He might be able to work as a mercenary but if Shield knew his face then they could find him again, he couldn’t risk it. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could even work as a mercenary. He’d seen the pained and pitying looks the other guards gave him when he’d lived with Cross. He was nothing more than a pet, the collared dancing bear that could attack on demand.

Clint knew he was fucked up. Hell, he’d been fucked up before he’d ever left the circus just from his shit childhood. His own brother had stood aside as Cross bought him from Trickshot; there was nothing to go back to there.

Swallowing thickly, he pulled the notebook into his lap and started flipping through it. It was a standard brown flexible moleskin notebook with clean evenly spaced lines. The pen was a cheap brio you could pick up at any office supply store or gas station in the US.

Blowing out a breath he glared at one of the small cameras he’d spotted before folding the cover back and started to write. In even block letters he listed out his demands if he was to become an agent, it was a short list. He really wanted very little, assurances of pay, meals, room and board, they would supply the equipment he needed for missions, and if he ever quit he would not be persecuted or sent to prison.

The next part was harder. He carefully wrote out every mission he could remember in the last seven years, the deals that Cross had made recently and with who, and a summary of his skills. The last page was the hardest, it listed the rules he’d been following since Cross bought him.

He spent the rest of the night curled in one corner rocking back and forth, arms wrapped tight around his ribs. He knew it wasn’t the healthiest reaction but it was too ingrained that he had to be calm. He took the hours he was left alone that night and locked his emotions away, he needed to be still and calm when they came for him the next day. He had to do well so he wouldn’t be punished.

The suit had said that privileges were taken away if he was being punished but what did that mean? He had nothing right now, he was given three meals a day, a shower every three so far, and a room with a sink, cot, and toilet. Would that be taken away if he screwed up? He’d screwed up a lot with Cross, the man had never been happy with anything Clint did not matter how hard he pushed himself.

He curled one hand in his short hair tugging harshly as he rocked. Shield wanted him to fight for them, to be a sniper again. They wanted to test him to see just how good he really was. He just had to do his best and see what they decided, it wasn’t any different than his time with Cross or Trickshot. He’d known fast enough if he screwed up, he thought with a mental snort settling his forehead against his knees and letting the repetitive motion soothe him.

The next morning he was given breakfast and he forced himself to eat a small amount before shoving it to the side. He gathered the notebook when they came to collect him but the suit was nowhere in sight. He was shown to a room with a single table with a desktop computer and one chair.

He frowned at the old style computer but took the chair without complaint, leaving the notebook in his lap. He was still answering multiple choice questions when they brought him his lunch. He drank the juice and forced himself to eat half the ham sandwich while continuing to peck away at the computer.

That was his pattern for the next four days. He exercised or rocked himself at night, occasionally adding to the notebook if he thought of something. He got a few hours of sleep before waking in time for a breakfast that he barely ate and more tests. 

 

***

“You’re boy isn’t looking too hot, Cheese.” Fury said as Phil stepped into the room, security footage of the cell playing on several screens.

“Barton’s test scores are holding up well. He could pass a GED with a bit of studying but his math skills are very high. The IQ tests also came back high.”

“He’s a smart delinquent who’s functionally mute and spends his nights rocking in a corner, Cheese. This isn’t an agent I can use.” Fury said with a sigh, handing the other agent a cup of coffee.

“Give him some time. We pulled the rug out from under him, Nick. He’s used to having structure, rules. I seriously doubt he was left with a lot of time on his hands working for Cross.”

“What are your plans?”

“I want a lighter case load for the next six months. Give me enough time to get him settled without me constantly disappearing on missions he can’t know about.”

“You want him leaning on you.”

“If that’s what it takes; we need him to start leaning on someone and right now I seem to be the only one in his corner.”

“Dr. Richards said that he returned her scissors. Missing since the first day she treated him in the cell and when she declared him fit they were put back in to her case.”

“It probably means he found a better weapon but I’ll make sure she’s the primary physician attached to his care.” Phil said making a note on his tablet.

“I need some progress soon, Phil.”

“I’ll hand in my report at the end of the month. I’m starting him on weapons testing tomorrow morning.”

“Get him talking, or we won’t be able to use him in the field.” Fury said with a grunt, flipping the video feeds off and moving on to the next case they were working.

“He worked in the field for seven years with Cross, Nick. We just need to figure out his methods.”

“Tell me about Bolivia.” Fury said dismissing the topic for now.

***

                Phil tugged of his tie with a sigh, rolling it quickly and stuffing it into a pocket. Barton was still working on his dinner when he came into the cell, picking at the pasta and meat. Phil settled into the chair and caught the moleskin that the young man tossed him one handed.

“Your test results are looking good. Tomorrow we’re going to take you to one of our smaller weapons testing range for a few drills.” Phil noted that the man nodded silently in response before going back to his food, eyes tracking Phil’s every movement for threats like the food would be taken away.

                Phil flipped through the notebook skimming the tightly filled pages. The book was completely full, missions, lists of assets, possible criminal actions and associates of Cross. It was everything they needed to put Cross away for life.

                The part that gave him pause however was the list of rules that Barton had lived under for the last seven years; He was never to speak or make a sound without being punished. He was always to be available to “Master Cross” no matter the time. The punishments listed varied from beatings and whippings, food or sleep being withheld, and flat-out torture from the control collar.

“Do I have your permission to show this to other Shield members?” he asked keeping his voice and demeanor mild, the last thing he needed was for Barton to think he was angry at him. Barton gave him another nod if slightly more hesitant and Phil took his leave.

                He made copies of the pertinent sections, giving them to the team pursuing charges against Cross and made sure they understood to add the files of the associates in the system for cross reference. He spent the next few hours making calls and arrangements; it would take some work to pull this off.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Dr. Roberts, Dr. Altai.” He said gesturing them to the chairs in front of his desk.

“It’s not often you call for a private meeting, Agent Coulson. I take it this is about the feral boy that was brought in?” Dr. Altai asked with a grin, she tended to get given the more unique head cases that Shield acquired.

“Partly, but he’s mute, not feral. His IQ is actually not that far below genius level and that might just be a lack of standard education.”

“So you want me to work on his language skills while Dr. Roberts deals with the physical?”

“Something like that,” He said with a shrug, “This is a copy of that the young man listed as his experiences while held captive for the last seven years. I’d like you both to review it and see if you can help me cobble together a deprogramming system we can use on him. I’ve also included his full file of what we know of his years before his capture.”

“He spent seven years held captive?” Dr. Richards asked, flipping through the file to frown at the medical reports from his childhood, parental abuse, and indications of physical abuse or punishment while he was in the circus, and his time in captivity.

“Held against his will using a control collar, his brother and mentor sold him into the situation so he has nothing to go back to there.” Phil said with a sigh, “He was used as a bodyguard, sniper, and prostitute. One of his rules was to never speak or make noise; the control collar was also set to go off if his heart rate went over a certain range.”

“So he was punished anytime he panicked.” Dr. Altai asked, flipping through the photocopies.

“If he was tortured with a pain amplifier for that long it could explain his reaction to his injuries. Any pain not on the level of the amplifier would be ignored as insignificant or he might have been punished for even showing pain or weakness.” Dr. Richards pointed out.

“One thing's for sure, you need to be very clear on what his rules are while he’s with us, Agent Coulson. He needs a set schedule he can count on and clear, definable rewards and punishments. There can’t be grey area.”

“Please call me, Phil. I think we are going to be working closely on this case for quite a while.

“Pam.” Dr. Altai said with a smile while Dr. Richards echoed, “Rebecca.”

“Would moving him to a different room help or hinder him? I was thinking about the small apartment rooms we have on base for traveling agents. They have indoor surveillance and alarms that can alert medical in an emergency.”

“You need him to be aware of where the cameras are and what will happen if an alarm goes off. For the next year, maybe more I would lay things out systematically for him. Don’t assume he’s going to know or understand something another agent would.”

“We know he read books while he was captive and had access to newspapers but he’s very hesitant with computers. I want to try and get him into classes.”

“For now I’d stick with one on one tutoring sessions or classes. Other students pick up on issues or difficulties and can use them for social gain, that’s the last thing we need him worrying about right now.”

“Have you seen any of the footage from his cell?”

“No, but I have a feeling we’re both going to be reviewing it for hours and hours.” Pam said with a bitter laugh, “What’s his coping mechanism?”

“Rocking; He sits in a corner gripping his hair, rocking in place. He’s also exercising for hours at a time but that might just be trying to keep his fitness level in place since we’re not letting him into a gym yet.”

“Are his injuries holding him back from exercising?” She asked glancing at Rebecca.

“Not as long as he doesn’t overdo it. He could still reopen a few of the wounds so I wouldn’t suggest sparring or weight lifting for another week or two but light exercise on an elliptical or treadmill would be fine.”

“One more thing, what did he come in with? Does he have anything he owned from his time in captivity or before?”

“A pair of boots and pants; they’re in the evidence locker.”

“Give them back and make sure he has enough clothes and necessities, like you would outfit an agent who lost everything in a fire. He’s not going to ask for anything, so you need to anticipate his needs at first.”

                They spent the next few hours hammering out a basic schedule, arranging tutors, and filling in gaps that Phil hadn’t considered when he took on this job. Yes, the young man might be twenty two but he would eventually become his guardian until he started to be able to deal with things on his own.

“His file said he was an orphan. Does he have any family besides the brother?”

“Not that we can find, does it matter?”

“You’re going to need to get his identity in place; ID, license, bank account, explain how a checking account works, and get his social security card. I doubt he knows how to do any of that if he was taken at fifteen.”

“I’ll add it to the list.” Phil said with a huff, just starting to see how large a task he’d taken on.

“You also need to make sure any males he comes into contact right now are non-confrontational. His childhood is full of abuse and he went straight from an environment of male domination to one of captivity. He’s probably not going to react well to attempts to dominate or control him until he feels more secure.”

“I was thinking of using mainly women for his tutors but he does need male role models.”

“What about someone who would assist in his physical training? He would be used to working with men while on missions. Do we have any retired agents who would be able to keep things light?”

“I’ll have to look.” Phil said with a frown, he had an idea but he doubted the man would want to come back in.

***

“Why exactly did you drag me back to Shield this early in the morning again, Phil?”

“Because I have someone I want you to meet.” Phil said with his patented bland smile, repressing a laugh as the older man grumped beside him.

“And we are watching the obstacle course why exactly?” While Phil fought to tear his eyes away from the outright acrobatic moves that Barton was executing while still firing easily at each passing target.

“How do you like the kid down there?”

“He’s a crack shot but is showing off too much. I don’t need another rookie following me around like a puppy, Phil. I’m retired.”

“Good, he’s the last one that would follow you any way.” Phil said handing a cut down version of Hawkeyes files over. “You can read the full version if you decide to sign on and I asked him to show off his skills today.”

“I’m still retired.” He said with a grunt opening the file and starting to read.

“We would like you to work as a civilian contractor. Barton needs a mentor and I’d like you to fill that slot.”

“Jesus. It’s a miracle he’s even able to be around Shield. The kid’s a head case?”

“No more than most of the seasoned soldiers we have walking around base. Mostly he’s been conditioned to submit to people in power over him and to trust no one. It makes for a nasty mix.”

“What’s the main issue?”

“He’s conditioned to never speak or make noise.” Phil said noting down the final score for Barton’s run, he’d broken the current record held on that range, fancy flips and all.

“How are you planning to change that?”

“No idea yet,” Phil said with a shrug, “He’s surprisingly functional without it. We’ve run him through mock missions and he performs without any issue.”

“What about when a mission goes FUBAR? How can he call for back up or explain a situation without a voice?”

“That’s why we need to get him exposed to more people. Right now he only really opens up around three people, two female doctors and me.”

“So what, you want me to take him fishing and talk? I’m not exactly the most likable man, Phil. I’ve been called a hard ass on too many missions not to see the truth.”

“Mike, he needs someone that doesn’t give a damn. He’s used to catering to people; I want you to be a hard ass with him until he starts to fight back.”

“And you can’t do it since he needs a handler always on his side.”

“Exactly, I want you to be his training coach, work with him through the training sessions he does every morning and push him.”

“And when he breaks?”

“I’m hoping he’ll come to me. If not then we need to find another outlet for him because if he won’t fight to protect himself I can’t send him out.”

 


	3. Ch. 3

#  Ch. 3

 

                Clint was enjoying most of the changes that happened in the last two weeks. He’d started being allowed to exercise in the gym and use the range in the afternoons once he finished class. He had classes each afternoon with a linguistics teacher who was teaching him ASL and was studying to take the GED next month. Once a week he met with Agent Coulson who would answer any questions or concerns he had and they would spend an hour or two reviewing his progress.

                Dr. Altai met with him daily for an hour. She kept trying to push him to interact with the other agents even if it was simply nodding hello or accepting an offer to spar but he still was hesitant. Several of the guards with Cross had tried to befriend the archer only for Cross to punish him whenever he found out. He needed more time to understand the rules here.

                Coulson had given him new rooms, clothes, a stack of empty notebooks, and the Shield regulation manual. Clint had never been a fast reader and he’d already filled several pages of a notebook with questions about the various regulations he’d reviewed trying to see how they applied to himself. For now he was holding onto the questions, he wanted to see how Coulson reacted to others before he started asking for more.

                He took all his meals in the base cafeteria snagging things he could carry back to his rooms so he didn’t have to figure out what tables were safe to sit at. The few times he’d skipped meals Coulson had threatened to take his range time away so he forced himself out of the gym early enough before his classes so he could grab a light meal.

He must have left it late since all the premade sandwiches and protein bars were gone forcing him to get a tray and go through the line. The cafeteria was packed and there was only a single table without every chair taken. Clint eyes the grizzled grey haired man who was slowly working his way through a plate of bacon and eggs with a frown, he didn’t look like any Shield agent and he wasn’t wearing the uniforms he’d seen so far.

Clint took his tray over hesitantly, taking a seat at the far end of the table. He started to eat when the man continued to ignore him in favor of his newspaper. The food at Shield was good at least, even if it wasn’t generally what he’d eat on his own given a choice. He bolted the eggs and bacon before forcing himself to finish the small scoop of fruit and a yogurt. Tray empty he headed out feeling the man’s eyes on his back as he handed off his tray and left the cafeteria.

Over the next few days he continued to see the man around, shooting on the range, reading a book in one of the outside courtyards, wandering the halls without any seeming direction or need to head somewhere. He was taking his questions and highlighted manual to talk to Coulson that week when he saw him again, coming out of Coulson’s office just before Clint’s appointment was scheduled.

“Name.” Clint signed slowly gesturing at where the man had been siting once Coulson closed the door and retook his seat.

“Retired Major Mike Stevens, he’s an old friend. I’ve been trying to convince him to work on a project with me.” Phil said with one of his small smiles, “What have you brought today?”

“Questions.” Clint signed, fumbling the spelling slightly while handing over the notebook and the manual full of sticky notes and marked pages.

                Phil flipped open the notebook skimming a few pages of questions before opening the manual and blinking in shock at the tiny notes that had been marked on nearly every page. Certain sections were highlighted with questions marked in pencil filling the margin. Deviations in how different people around him were treated and how each was allowed to act according to the rules were listed out showing just how much Clint was observing in his silent prowling of the corridors.

“Will you give me a few days to research some of your questions?” Phil asked glancing up at the waiting young man.

Clint gave an easy nod and Phil set the books to one side handing Clint the new textbooks for the week. He wondered if the young man realized just how fast he was plowing through the material he’d missed over the years. Clint started paging through the first one eagerly while Phil brought up the next document he needed.

“These are also for you.” He said handing over a folder, “Your Shield ID, a copy of your birth certificate, social security card, bank account information, and your first paycheck. We can go to the bank this weekend to make a withdrawal if you’d like some money to keep on hand?”

Clint nodded but it was more hesitant than before. He fiddled with the papers in his hands, going back to the picture on his Shield ID over and over again.

“We also need to get you a few pairs of casual clothes for when you go off base.” Phil pointed out writing notes in a moleskin notebook of his own, “Think about what you’d like to pick up.”

“You tutors are very impressed with your progress and I’d like to add something to your schedule if you’re willing.” Phil said slowly watching as Clint’s full attention came back to him.

“Until you’re ready to join the other new agents in class I’d like to set up someone to work with you on the range and in the gym. On weekends he’ll be taking you on short training missions and working with you one on one.”

Clint pointed to Phil with a raised eyebrow and cocked head making him grin, “No, I’m afraid I don’t have enough time to devote to that kind of training, no matter how much I’d like to.  Mr. Stevens will meet you in the gym tomorrow at your normal time.”

Clint frowned but nodded to show he was listening. They went over a few small things that Clint had been cited for that week. He wasn’t allowed on the roof without permission which he wasn’t likely to get until he made full agent. He’d been written up by the security team for being in a restricted area without ID for wandering through the research areas on base which Phil waved away for now explaining that until he reached a certain level of clearance he wouldn’t allowed in certain areas of Shield without an escort. He’d also managed to insult one of the researchers since he hadn’t responded to her questions, and she’d refused to read the scribbled notes he tried to give her.

“Would it help if we got you some premade cards explaining the situation? We could add to them as things come up. People are more inclined to read something that looks official.” Clint agreed to try it at least until his signing got more proficient but even then most of the agents didn’t know ASL.

                The next morning Clint was too nervous to eat and went straight to the gym at his normal time.  The retired major wasn’t there yet so he started on his warm up stretches. He saw the man out of one eye come in wearing an old style forest camo shirt and pants with well-worn combat boots.

“You’re Barton, I take it?” He asked dropping to a crouch next to Clint with a wince and crack of knees. Clint nodded and shifted to a tailor’s seat, signing hello.

“I don’t speak sign, Kid. You’re going to have to speak up or write it down if you want to tell me something.” Mike said bluntly. “I’m going to be pushing you hard, Kid, so don’t take it personal. I want to see where you’re at in your training. You stretched enough for a run?”

Clint nodded pulling himself up easily while the older man levered himself up with a curse.

“I’ll be timing you on the outside course, come on. You’re going to have to judge your own pace; my knees are shot from too many parachute drops.”

                Clint dropped to the ground gasping for air when he was finally allowed to stop. Major Stevens had started alternating laps of sprinting and jogging when it was clear the regular pace wasn’t going to wind the archer.

“We’ve still got two hours, Kid.” Mike said, tossing the young man a water bottle. “Finish that while we walk.”

                He led Clint into the building to one of the smaller classrooms. Dumping a military history book on a table he gestured Clint into a chair while he got the projector set up.  For the next two hours he broke down several historical battles and explained issues with supply, chain of command, terrain, and other possible outcomes.

“You’re to read the first two chapters and write an essay on the battles described by next Friday. I’ll see you next week, Kid.”

                Clint gathered up the book and went to his rooms taking a quick shower. He spent most of the rest of his day in a daze; mind too busy turning over what he’d been shown. With Cross he’d never seen the preparation or strategy that went into a fight, he’d just been expected to show up and kill his targets.

                The next few months Clint finally started to come into his own. He’d almost stopped having panic attacks at night and was slowly being transitioned into classes with the other junior Shield agents. He’d been moved to the advanced hand to hand and marksmanship courses and was taking basic first aid and several military strategy classes, filling up his days. His sessions with Mike were moved to the weekends or evenings to give him time for his classes but he enjoyed working with the older man.

                He’d gone through a few weeks of regression where he had random panic attacks while he fought with himself. He’d shocked Phil the first time he called him Sir out loud and it was a struggle for him to speak at all in class earning him some mocking from the other students when he stuttered through an answer. Working with Mike forced him to speak and the gruff man never called him out on how long it took sometimes for him to force a question out.

                Phil’s office became him hideout on extra stressful days. The first time Phil arrived at his desk to find Clint curled in a corner fighting with his breathing Clint was certain he was going to be kicked out. Instead, Phil dropped a blanket off of the couch over his shoulders and gave him a bottle of water.

“If you want to talk, I’ll be working at my desk for the next hour or so. If you just want somewhere quiet, my office is always open if you need some time to decompress. You’re always welcome, Clint.”

                His first utter melt down happened not long after he’d been removed from his tutors and placed completely in classes with the other Shield agents to be. The other students were constantly pushing him to interact, questioning his silence and late entry to the classes, testing his reactions in drills or combat classes. They pushed and pushed, while Clint fought to understand how he was supposed to even respond in most cases.

                He’d stumbled through a few of the conversations with Mike but the gruff man wasn’t much help for social issues. He’d given a few short pieces of advice before turning to other topics. Clint tried to do as he’d said and weather out the attacks and pressure but it just kept getting worse, they attacked if he didn’t respond or if he did. Nothing seemed to help. His answers in class were turned into debates that wound up making the entire class have to do extra essays which earned him even more aggression from the students.

                It had finally come to a head when one of the students who seemed to delight in making Clint fail confronted him after class. He’d been cutting through a hallway that wasn’t used for classes much when the small group approached, forcing Clint against the wall as the four young men surrounded him. Clint forced his hands to stay down and his muscles relaxed, the last thing he needed was to be cited for fighting.

“How exactly did a retard like you make it past the Shield entrance exams, Barton? You have some special skill the recruiters want?” Simmons asked with a sneer, shifting closer into Clint’s space.

“Everyone… takes the same… tests.” Clint forced out, wincing at how his voice wavered.

“Yeah, but not everyone has private tutors and Agent Coulson holding their hands. Tell me, does he tuck you in at night?”

“Coulson’s…” Clint said, shivering slightly when Simmons talked right over him.

“Yeah, we all know Coulson brought you in. Does he make you suck his cock in those meetings or are you just his fuck toy on the weekends?” Clark asked with a leer.

“Stop it.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it retard? Go cry about it to Coulson?” Simmons sneered, pushing Clint back into the wall hard.

                Clint twisted to get out into the open corridor shoving Simmons away. A hand grabbing his shoulder had him lashing out on instinct. Simmons rushed him with a yell, and Clint took out the rest of the group like he would on an op, making sure they wouldn’t be getting back up or reaching for a weapon. He came back to himself with a flinch taking in the moaning young men at his feet, bolting away from the group when Simmons began cursing him at the top of his lungs.

***

“Yes, sir,” Phil said with a sigh, hanging up and opening his office door.

                He took in the empty dark office with a frown; he’d hoped that Clint would have run here after the fight. He set his things down on the desk, turning on the lamp. He sent a quick text to his secretary asking that his meetings be canceled for the day when a small sound had him pulling out a concealed blade and surveying the room.

                Another shift of cloth drew his gaze to the desk and he carefully put up his knife. If he was right he didn’t need to scare the panicking young man any more than he already was. He carefully pulled the chair away from his desk and glanced underneath, blowing out a relieved breath when he saw Clint curled tight in the leg well.

“Clint.” Phil said with a frown, taking in the bruises marking the young man’s arms. “Clint?”

                He wasn’t rocking but he was gripping his forearms in a white knuckled grip, shivering with his face pressed into his knees. Clint didn’t respond to anything Phil did and even the very lightest touches earned violent flinches and choked off sobs. Phil was at a loss, and for now left the archer where he was.

                Ducking out of the office he called Clint’s instructors so they knew not to expect him the rest of the week. He called security and Fury making sure the hunt for Barton was called off. With a suppressed groan his next call was to Pam.

“I take it your boy was the reason my building was in lock down?” She said as soon as the line clicked.

“Yes, we have him on camera getting surrounded by four other students. One grabbed him from behind and he took them out. All of them have broken bones and severe bruising; I need your help Pam.”

“Have you found him?”

“He’s under my desk freaking out at the moment.” Phil said making sure the door to his office was shut so Clint couldn’t hear, “He’s not responding to anything and flinching away when I try to comfort him.”

“Schedule him with me for a long session tomorrow. I’ll arrange it with my front office. We’re probably going to need to go back to two or three sessions a week for a while.”

“I’ll make sure he goes.” He said with a sigh, “What can I do with him now? He’s stuck in his head.”

“Let him come out of it on his own. Can you stay in your office for the rest of the day?”

“Yes, I’ve already cleared my schedule for the rest of the day.”

“You said he’s under your desk?”

“Yes, why?” He said slowly, already not liking where this could take him.

“Take a seat at your desk and keep working. Talk to him when you can. Keep it light and reassuring. He should come out on his own once he calms down a bit.”

“You don’t think that would be crowding him?”

“If it is he’ll bolt out as soon as you try. I think it will be reassuring however to have you that close, he seems to crave touch when he’s upset. Try it and see if he relaxes. If he’s still under there when it’s time for you to leave call me and I’ll come by with a sedative. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“Alright, I’ll text if there’s any change.”

“Good luck, Phil. Just be gentle with him, he’s used to everyone around him lashing out.”

“Alright, thank you, Pam.” Phil glanced over to where his secretary was working away on something, clearly trying not to overhear his conversation.

“Miss Harris?”

“Yes, sir?” she asked glancing up as he approached her desk.

“Can you go down to the cafeteria and pick me up a sandwich, please; it looks like I’m going to be working from the office this afternoon. Get something for yourself as well and charge it to my account.”

“Of course, your usual?”

“Yes, and after you bring it in I don’t want anyone coming in. I’m going to be working on a sensitive project and will have my office locked. Have them call or email if it’s something I have to deal with.”

“I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed but if the Director shows up you know I can’t do much.”

“In that case, I perfectly understand and I’ve already spoken with Director Fury. He should be terrorizing other offices for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be right back with the food.” She paused concern for the young agent who had barreled into the office earlier barely able to use the thumb print scanner with how bad his hands were shaking, “Should I get anything for Barton?”

“An extra bottled drink, if you don’t mind.” Phil said with a grateful smile, “I don’t think he’s going to up to eating right now.”

                Phil ducked back into his office and started arranging things on his desk. He left only the lamp on and made sure all the files he would need were in reach. Miss Harris returned with the meals and he locked the door behind her, activating the lockdown sequence only Hill and Fury could override. He set the bottled juice near Clint but the young man ignored it.

                He carefully took a seat and pulled himself into place, braced to move if Clint needed to get out but there wasn’t a reaction so he forced himself to relax and start working. After about an hour he ate his lunch and tossed the trash, he’d just gotten relaxed and steadily working on his computer when Clint finally moved.

                Clint shifted closer to Phil’s legs, pressing his shoulders and side so he was leaning into the older man, his cheek pressed against the side of his knee. Phil forced himself to keep working, not reacting until Clint was settled. He carefully reached down and stroked one hand along Clint’s hair feeling the tears soaking his pants as he broke down.

                He waited until Clint had cried himself out before shifting back and pulling the younger man out from under the desk. He guided him to the couch and got him settled under a blanket before quickly grabbing a handful of damp paper towels from the tiny attached bathroom. He wiped down Clint’s face without comment, tucking him in.

“Sleep for a while, Clint.” Phil said when the archer looked like he was going to move. “We can talk about it tomorrow. For now I have a little more work to do before we go to my apartment for dinner. Is that okay?”

                Clint gave a hesitant nod and Phil moved back to his desk to try and wrap things up. Four hours later he gathered up his things and guided Clint to where his car was parked. The ten minute drive went quickly and soon he was showing Clint into his kitchen forcing him to take a seat at the small kitchen table when he seemed inclined to lean against the wall.

                Phil stripped off his jacket and tie before starting to make a quick dinner of pasta. He wasn’t much of a cook but he could do pasta and jarred sauce. He set the table and set a loaded plate before Clint without comment. They ate without comment before retiring to the living room to watch a movie.

                Phil didn’t comment when Clint dropped to the floor and leaned against his legs. If Clint was as touch starved as they thought he’d need supportive reminders that not every touch would mean pain. He knew someone walking in on them would take this the wrong way but if this was what it took for Clint to relax, he would deal with any judgmental idiots who might comment.

                He couldn’t get Clint to take the spare bedroom, even mentioning it sent the boy into another melt down. Rocking and crying as he fought with himself. Phil quickly backed down making a nest of blankets next to the couch for him to sleep in.

                Phil almost expected Clint to have bolted during the night but he was still curled in his blankets when he got up the next morning. They ate breakfast in silence but once they were both dressed for the day, Phil had to explain things to Clint before they went any further.

“Clint, I need you to listen to me for a minute, alright?”

Clint gave a hesitant nod, watching as Phil finished tying his tie.

“I want you to know that you’re always welcome here. I have a spare bedroom you can use if you ever need to get away from Shield. I have a spare key I’ll get to you later today. You can come any time, even if I’m out of town on a mission, understand?”

“We have an appointment with Pam this morning. You need to decide what you want to say to her.”

                Phil bundled Clint into the car and they swung by a Starbucks on the way in. Clint was back to refusing to respond to questions so he got him a coffee and muffin. Clint carried his food untouched in with him to the appointment and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Not eating this morning, Clint?” Pam asked sipping at her own mug of coffee while Phil took a chair near the window. Clint didn’t respond pulling his legs up onto the couch and wrapping his arms around himself.

“Alright, first things first;” Pam said setting her mug to the side, “The students who attacked you spent the night in the infirmary. They claim you attacked them without provocation but we have clear footage of two of them trying to harass you. All four young men are going to be expelled from the training courses and sent back to basic training. If they make it through they will be allowed to attempt to retake classes next year. Since you did injure fellow Shield classmates you will be confined to base for a month unless in the presence of a superior such as Agent Coulson.”

“Do you understand your punishment, Clint?” She asked standing and moving to take a seat on the other side of the couch. Clint nodded but he was frowning. He glanced between Phil and Pam for a long moment.

“You have a question?” she prompted offering a notebook and pen, “Would it be easier to write it down?”

“Can you also write down what was said during the confrontation? I’d like to understand the context if you are willing.”

Clint nodded and slowly wrote out several paragraphs before handing the notebook back hesitantly. Pam glanced over the list with a frown, before turning to Phil.

“Agent Coulson, do you mind joining the discussion?”

“As long as Clint doesn’t object,” He said mildly moving to the chair beside the couch when Clint shook his head.

“Clint, from your description they forced you to stop and talk and then processed to harass you with derogatory questions and insults. You defended yourself when they acted like they were attacking you.” She paused for a long moment, “The questions you have below concern me, I need to know a few things before I can address your questions, alright?”

Clint nodded again shifting his seat as he glanced between Pam and Phil.

“I know your situation growing up and as a teenager was not the norm so I need to make sure I understand that you understand that as well, Shield does not allow anyone to abuse or hurt others whether they are part of Shield or not while you work in its employ. Nor are others allowed to do the same to you. Do you understand?”

“If anyone does do something you don’t agree with, you are authorized to use any force necessary to remove yourself from that situation and then report it to your superiors.” She said firmly making sure Clint was paying attention. “Has anyone, either Shield staff or simply anyone on base tried to force you into a situation where you were forced to perform sexual acts you did not consent to?”

Clint shook his head, curling tighter into the couch watching them with weary eyes.

“Alright, back to your questions.” She said with a frown, “Agent Coulson, would you say it is ever acceptable to accept or expect sexual favors from a subordinate?”

“No,” Phil said slowly, “I would never ask that from someone who was my subordinate and even if we were of equal rank I would need to person’s consent before pursuing any kind of sexual relationship.”

“So, you would agree that no agent of Shield will ever be asked to perform a sexual act as part of their employment?”

“That would be correct.”

“Can I show Phil your questions, Clint?” She asked gently waiting for his nod before handing over the notebook.

                Phil forced himself to keep the mild expression on his face as he read through the short page of writing. The confrontation had been nasty, digging up issues that he thought Clint was finally starting to work through. _Did he ever have to suck Coulson’s cock or have sex with him?_ Was the question that forced him to push his anger away harshly and lock it away, Clint wouldn’t understand right now that he wasn’t angry at him. If he could go back in time and shoot Cross in the head he would pay whatever price was demanded right then.

“Clint, I would never ask you or anyone else that I work with to do something of a sexual nature.” He said carefully handing the notebook back.

“We don’t have to discuss this now but I need to know, Clint, are you sexually active right now?” Pam asked gently making a small note on her pad when Clint violently shook his head.

“I can understand why you want to distance yourself from that right now but sex itself is not a bad thing as long as everyone is a consenting adult. Nor are there any rules in Shield preventing you from dating or pursuing a relationship outside of Shield’s ranks.”

“One last thing before we change topics, do you masturbate?” She asked, making more notes when Clint again violently shook his head with a mumbled no. “There is no rule against doing so in your off hours as long as you do so in private. You won’t be punished for masturbating. Do you understand, we can come back to this later but I want you to think about it, alright?”

                After that Pam moved on to a discussion of his classes and how his interactions were going with the other students. Slowly Clint relaxed until he was able to haltingly talk about the issues he’d been having. Phil made a few notes on things he wanted to discuss with Pam later but kept out of the conversation for now.

                He’d frankly never given any thought to how Clint would react to sex after years of abuse. He’d concentrated on trying to provide a stable environment for the twenty year old while ensuring he had a place with Shield once he finished training. He’d never considered the fact that Clint might have been banned from masturbating or even interacting with others in a friendly manner. You’d learn to avoid making friends quickly when anyone who approached you disappeared soon after or were killed openly by your ‘Master’ as punishment for touching his property.

                It was going to take years but he hoped he lived long enough to see this broken young man healed and coming into his own. Phil would find a way to make it happen; he had to he thought grimly. No one else seemed willing to step forward to protect him so until Clint was able to do so himself, it would have to be him.


	4. Ch. 4

#  Ch. 4

               

Clint pulled at his hair curled in the corner of Phil’s kitchen, a broken glass littering the floor to one side.  He gasped for air rocking franticly. He had no idea how long he’d been there, every muscle strained tight enough to hurt. He didn’t see Mike come in, not even aware of the low muffled sobs that wracked his thin frame.

“Shit,” Mike muttered, digging out his phone and dialing Coulson. “Phil, I need you at your apartment, looks like he’s having a panic attack. Fuck, yeah, I’ll try.”

                Mike hung up and slowly cleaned up the broken glass, making sure Clint wasn’t injured before taking a seat on the floor. He waited for a lull in the gasping sobs before trying to touch Clint on one shoulder. He barely blocked the instinctive blow that clipped past one ear before he got the wiry young man into a hold and into his lap.

                He started talking, random stupid recitations of missions and bad stories of the things that can go wrong on a Shield base. The archer weakly struggled for a long time before slowly going limp in his arms, shivering in reaction to whatever was going through his head.

“You calm enough to tell me what’s going on?” Mike asked slowly letting the young man go so he could move away once his breathing started to calm down. The kid signed something at him as he curled up small against the cabinets but Mike just sighed, “Kid, you know I don’t know sign. You’re going to have to say it for me.”

“Phil?” Clint finally choked out, shivering from his corner against the kitchen cabinets.

“Phil’s out of town on a mission, Clint. He won’t be back for another three days. You’ve only got me right now, I’m afraid.” Mike said with a wince, he was the last person to help with emotional issues; he had enough of his own.

“Broke it,” Clint whimpered, clumsily wiping at his splotched face.

“Yeah, I saw that. It looked like it was an accident.”

“Punish.”

“No, son;” Mike said with a sigh, “No one’s going to punish you for breaking a glass. I can promise you that. It was an accident so no one’s at fault and no one is getting punished.”

“Punish.” Clint repeated, curling in on himself.

“Not happening, Kid. Come on; let’s take this into the living room at least. I’m too old for floors.” He said hauling himself to his feet with a grunt and moving into the living room.

                He took a seat in the recliner to one side and waited, hoping he was doing the right thing. After a few long minutes Clint slowly came out of the kitchen but he dropped to his knees next to the couch, taking a seat on the floor. Mike frowned to see it; Phil had said the boy had issues with furniture at first since he’d rarely been allowed to use it during his captivity.

“You can use the couch if you want, Kid.” Mike said gruffly, flicking on the TV to some old black and white movie.

                Hours later when Phil arrived back on base, Clint was sprawled next to the couch asleep. Mike fought his way out of the comfortable chair with a silent grimace and hobbled his way into the kitchen so they could talk. He started a pot of coffee while Phil ducked into his room to change.

“So he broke a glass?”

“Yeah, I think it was more that it was one of yours then the fact he broke it.” Mike said with a sigh, “He went totally nonverbal for about two hours before he finally calmed down enough for me to get one word answers out of him. He didn’t seem to understand that he wouldn’t be punished for something that was an accident.”

“How did you find him here?”

“He missed a tutoring session and never showed up for rifle practice with me. I checked his bunk and the roof he likes but I knew you sometimes let him stay here.” Mike said with a shrug. “Process of elimination;”

“None of the bedrooms have been touched so if he was sleeping here it was on the couch.” Phil said with a sigh glancing at where Clint’s foot was sticking out past the couch.

“What was he doing when you came in?”

“He was crying, zoned out and rocking, muscles locked up tight. He never even noticed me there sitting next to him until I touched him.”

“He reacted violently?”

“Tried to take my head off but after that didn’t really fight, just kind of weakly struggling to get loose. I held onto him until he calmed down and let him move away once he was breathing normal.”

“How long was he rocking?”

“I’d say most of the day; the glass had a bit of water in it still but if any spilled it had already dried by the time I cleaned up.”

“Alright, thanks for tracking him down, Mike.”

“Someone’s got to watch out for the idiot.” Mike said with a fond grunt. “Let me know if you need help the next few days. I doubt he’s going to go right back to normal after that big a freak out.”

“You’re probably right. I was starting to think he’d gotten past this. He’s been doing really well.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s doing bad, Phil. Just that it’s going to take more time.”

“Fury was planning to start using him on sniper missions in January.”

“He’ll probably be fine as long as it’s nothing back to back. He’s just taking the milk runs right?”

“For the first few months, yeah;” Phil said blowing out a breath.

“Rough suddenly having a kid, isn’t it.” He asked with a grin. “They make you worry about everything you thought you’d gotten over years ago.”

“Very funny,”

“Hell, I never exactly asked for a grandkid, Phil.” Mike said with a snort, “That kid’s a good one. I don’t want to see him get chewed up by Shield any more than you do but they’re also the only ones who are going to have his back.”

 

***

                The next morning Mike walked into Phil’s apartment to check on them and almost turned around and headed right back out. Phil was in the recliner working on a tablet while Clint sat kneeling with his arms behind his back, face pressed into Phil’s knee. Phil raised an eyebrow but said nothing to dispel the shocked expression on his friend’s face.

“I’m going to start a pot of coffee.” He finally managed, ignoring the small huff that served the more reserved man as a laugh most of the time.

“Come on, Clint.” Phil said gently helping the young man to sit up, “We have company, Mike’s here and you two need to decide how you’re going to make up for your missed lesson.”

“Okay.” Clint said with a sigh, pulling himself to his feet and padding into the kitchen silently as always, no matter the heavy combat boots he was wearing.

“I was thinking a weekend of survival training next Saturday if you’re up to it, Kid.”

“Yeah;” Clint said not meeting Mike’s eyes as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Words, Clint.” Phil said, making himself a cup of coffee.

“That’d be good.” Clint said after a moment, clearly having to force the words out.

“Good, make sure you pack your Ghilie suit. We’re going to get some shooting practice in while we’re out.”


	5. Ch. 5

#  Ch. 5

 

Clint stormed through the halls, Natasha trailing behind him with her normal blank mask she wore when she wasn’t sure of a situation. They had been sparing and good naturedly ribbing each other between bouts when he’d suddenly went stiff and retreated. He marched right past Phil’s secretary and into his office without bothering to knock. Natasha hesitated at the door before Phil gestured for her to close it.

“Something the matter?” He asked lightly as the two assassins came in, Clint clearly upset about something.

                Both of them froze as Clint stalked around the desk and hit his knees. He pressed his body against one of Phil’s legs his entire body shaking. Phil gave Natasha a stern glance when she opened her mouth to answer, silencing her; he needed Clint to verbalize the issue.

“What do you need, Clint?” He asked gently, running a hand through his hair.

“Stay here, please?” Clint said shifting like he could get even closer to Phil but keeping his hands down, not trying to pull Phil closer.

“I need to know what caused this first, Clint. You know the rules.” Phil said patiently making sure to keep his tone level and bland.

                Natasha waited in silence watching as Phil slowly got Clint to calm down. She had only been with them as a team for a few months and had never seen the archer like this. She’d been delighted to find someone who could stand up to her level of training and would willingly spar against her.

                Clint started signing something to Phil in ASL but Phil merely took his hands and held them. “Say it out loud, Clint.” He reminded him gently, releasing his hands and going back to stroking a hand through his hair ignoring the whimper his reminder earned. She shifted slightly, unsure if she should stay or go, drawing Phil’s attention.

“Take a seat, Natasha. This is going to take however long it takes.” Phil said glancing at the empty chair before his desk. He hit a button on his phone and informed his secretary to cancel all his appointments for the rest of the day.

“Said I needed a collar, don’t want one.” Clint choked out his tone slightly hysterical.

“I promised you wouldn’t ever be collared again, Clint. That’s never going to happen, I won’t let it.” Phil said shifting forward in his chair so that Clint was kneeling between his legs, face pressed against his stomach.

“Said,” Clint gasped out, voice wrecked.

“I know she said it, Clint, but Natasha doesn’t know about your past.” Phil said starting to rub the younger man’s shoulders gently, “She didn’t understand what it meant to you.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled starting to pull back, Phil kept his hold on him firm but light.

“Stay as long as you need. I don’t have anything for the rest of the day.”

“Under?” he asked blushing lightly since he knew Natasha was still watching.

“If that’s what you need.” Phil said standing and moving back so that Clint could climb under his desk, one of the reason’s he had such a large one. “Is it alright if Natasha reads your file? It might prevent this from happening again.”

“Yeah,” Clint said softly, his voice almost inaudible as Phil retook his seat and settled his legs under the desk, Clint pressing his shoulder and face into Phil’s ankle.

“I expect the contents of these files to stay confidential.” Phil said with a frown, handing over the stripped down version of Clint’s past that he kept for situations like this.

                Two hours later Natasha returned to find Clint asleep on the leather couch to one side while Phil worked at his desk. She silently returned the file and took a seat next to the exhausted archer. Phil worked for another hour before gathering up what he needed for the night and shutting down his computer.

“Wake up, Hawk; Time to go.” Phil said pulling on his jacket.

“Okay,” Clint muttered pulling himself sleepily out of the cushions.

“What do you want for dinner?” Phil prompted, knowing that he’d need to keep Clint talking for a while until he worked past this road bump.

“Pasta?” Clint asked glancing between Phil and Natasha suddenly unsure.

“Will you be joining us, Natasha?” Phil asked nudging Clint, “Go get your jacket and bag.”

“As long as I’m not in the way,” She said slowly as Clint left the office rubbing at his face, she wanted to know how to help her partner if this happened again.

“You might as well see our routine. It doesn’t happen often any more, mostly after missions that involve children. He normally makes it through the debrief before collapsing. The last few months have been stressful for all of us.” He said with a tight smile, they’d finally all gotten through the political red tape that bringing the Russian assassin in had caused and she had passed the training missions and courses they threw her way easily.

“They conditioned him to be mute?”

“Functionally mute but yes. For the next few days we’re going to have to prompt him to answer questions verbally.” Phil said gathering up his briefcase, “He’s going to spend the night at my place. You’re welcome to do the same, I have two spare bedrooms.”

“Let me go get a change of clothes.” She said with a frown, following Phil to the door.

“I know you like sparring with him but you need to realize that he’s more breakable then you. We left you together because he is the only one who’s going to be able to go toe to toe with you but he’s not going to acknowledge his injuries either. Clint will jump off a cliff without a parachute if you ask him to; he’ll break every bone in his body getting a mission done and walk into the debrief without the smallest limp.”

“He doesn’t feel pain?” she asked with a frown starting to remember some of the harder hits the young man had taken only to bounce back without a flinch.

“No, he feels it.” Phil said with a sigh, “He was conditioned to ignore pain and work around it without showing any injuries.”

“I see.”                                              

“Keep sparring with him, he’s enjoying it as much as you are but try not to let him take it too far. He doesn’t know his own limits anymore.”

                That night she watched as Clint curled on the floor next to Phil’s legs while they watched a cheesy movie and ate baked ziti. Phil kept a steadying hand on the younger man most of the time, rubbing at the back of his neck or carding through his hair. When the movie was over they each went to separate rooms to sleep but she heard Phil up several times calming Clint when he woke in the night.

                The next morning they had eggs, bacon, and waffles and Clint was mostly back to normal if more quiet then she’d seen him so far. She could understand now why Phil encouraged his banter over the coms. He was still only five years out from his captivity, he might always have moments of relapse and his team would need to be there for him.

 


	6. Ch. 6

#  Ch. 6

 

                Clint gripped his hands together knowing he would have bruises from how harshly he was grinding the bones and tendons against each other and not caring. Loki and Thor had been sent back to Asgard that morning, leaving Natasha and Clint to return to Shield to try and rebuild. He’d been suspended for six months of evaluations while Natasha was sent out of the country on an emergency mission.

                Shield was the only home he’d known in the last ten years. In the last week he’d been punched, spit on, and screamed at whenever he was in the halls. He’d finally gathered his things and spent the night on the roof, grieving for Phil and cursing the fact that he wasn’t here when Clint needed him. He wished he could visit Mike but he’d finally given in to his children’s requests three years ago and moved to Florida to be closer to the grandkids.

                After that night he only came onto base for his appointments. He spent his days helping clean up with rubble that the battle had left and sleeping rough. He got a hotel a few days in to catch a shower and wash his grimy clothes but couldn’t make himself use the bed. He spent the night curled in a corner rocking to himself while he listed out the name of every agent he’d killed or injured in the attack.

                He knew he was shutting down but didn’t know how to stop it. His nights were full of blood, blue washed lines of sight, and a trickster’s voice in his ear telling him how good he was, such a clever killer. He woke earlier and earlier forcing himself to choke down some small meal before he started his day.

                At his appointments with Shield he watched how everyone pulled away from him and monitored him with a distrustful eye. He couldn’t blame them, he didn’t trust himself either. Only his loyalty to Phil and Fury kept him going to the never ending interviews and medical tests. The interviews at least were finally abandoned after he simply stopped responding to questions that didn’t need a one word answer.

                The clock clicked over to six am and he forced himself out of the corner. He mechanically took a shower and pulled on his freshly washed jeans and ratty flannel shirt. Summer was hitting its peak leaving the New Yorkers gasping in the gathering heat as they trudged about their business but Clint was cold, plagued with shaking hands and blue tinged scenes filling his mind.

                He gathered up his things, not that he had much since most of his gear had been Shield’s and the rest was buried somewhere under the Pegasus facility. He didn’t bother checking out. It was a long walk back to Midtown and he used the last bit of cash he had to buy a cup of coffee and donut. The coffee sat sloshing in his stomach and he tossed the donut after one bite, it was the kind Phil had liked.

                He’d enjoyed fighting with Rogers. He had taken the ruthless style of his and Natasha’s fighting in stride unlike most of the agents he’d worked with over the years. Most took a few missions if not longer before they stopped watching them from the sides of their eyes. Rogers had given his orders and turned his back on them without hesitation, certain they would do what needed to be done.

                Stark had eyed them uncertainly but Clint couldn’t really blame him since Natasha had been playing the vixen secretary for most of a year while he was dying from palladium poisoning. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Shield and they were Shield agents first, no matter what they were calling the group that had fought together that day. Stark had no real reason to trust them and Clint was happy that the team had scattered when they did, he didn’t think he could deal with any extra interactions right now even if Phil had liked the playboy millionaire.

                He arrived early and waited for the lead foreman to start calling out assignments. They were scheduled to start cleaning a new sector of midtown Manhattan and he couldn’t start until they announced where they were going. He fiddled with his last couple quarters and thought about buying another coffee but pocketed the change after few breathes, he probably should use it on lunch.

                Just because life had to be ironic, he though with a snort, his troop was assigned the streets around Stark tower.  He caught a ride in the back of one of the pickup trucks they used to haul away the trash and debris. Stark was flying around the tower working on repairs himself when they arrived, most of the volunteers gapped openly at the flying man but Clint just grabbed a pair of gloves and started heaving chunks of concrete in to a wheelbarrow. After a while the rest of the group joined him and he fell into a rhythm of filling the wheelbarrow, taking it to the truck, up the plank, and dumping it before starting all over again.

                He’d been working there three days when he spotted Steve heading into the tower. Clint kept his head down and his hands moving, the last thing he needed was to be spotted by Captain America. A brick slipped scrapping his wrist but he kept moving; he just needed to finish and find somewhere to hole up for the night.

                He cursed when Tony Stark himself came out the main doors and wandered over to start talking with the man leading Clint’s troop. Clint finished loading the last truck and waved away the offered ride, he’d walk for a while. He was exhausted and needed to eat soon but he needed to get away more than he needed the rest or the small pay check he would have received at the end of the week.

                Doubling back and crisscrossing midtown he made his way to the bad side of Manhattan where there were fewer cameras and less chance of anyone pointing him out. Shield must have suppressed most of the video footage and pictures of the battle that showed him and Natasha but there were still a few blurred shots that had been published. So far no one had realized that he was the same guy that had run around shooting aliens with a bow and he wanted to keep it that way.

                He found a deserted warehouse near the docks and a stable corner in the rafters where he could sleep. He dozed for a few hours before nightmares left him heaving over the edge of a steel girder. He spent the rest of the night rocking himself harshly, hands leaving dark bruises on his wrists as he cried, Phil had always encouraged him to cry and he probably wouldn’t have minded Clint crying for him. He bit his lip bloody from keeping the sounds in but he couldn’t stop the tears.

                The next morning he rinsed his face in an icy stream of water from a faucet in the warehouse before starting the long walk back to Shield shouldering the thin green duffle that held his bow and a few changes of clothes. He had an appointment that afternoon and it would take him most of the morning to walk there since he didn’t have any money for the subway. He thought he felt eyes on him a few times but he kept his head down, not caring if someone was tracking him back to Shield, he wasn’t going to use that warehouse again anyway.

                He was starting to consider leaving Shield for good. Natasha was the only thing stopping him right now, he’d repaid any debt he might had owed Fury years ago for getting him out, that had been all Coulson anyway. He needed to at least leave her a message before he started hitch hiking to where he’d stashed his nearest getaway bag.

                He ignored the glares and wide eyed looks as the guards at the gate checked his ID. He silently made his way to medical where he was ID’d again and then gestured to a small room with an examination table. Dr. Richards had died in the battle trying to help move injured away from the engines. Her funeral had been during the weeks he’d been stuck on base fighting to force himself to explain what had happened during his time with Loki.

He let them draw blood and run him through yet another MRI, stealing a few sheets of paper and a pen. He wrote out his message for Natasha while he waited to be dismissed, dropping it off on her bunk before taking his last message to stuff in Hill’s inbox on her desk in the rarely used office. If he was lucky she wouldn’t find it for a few weeks, he thought with a smirk considering the way the inbox was overflowing.

                Two weeks later he was in New Mexico working at a small ranch where most of the workers spoke Spanish. They eyed his buzz cut and white skin with suspicion but gave him a chance. He worked hard each day so that he earned the communal meals of chili and corn bread each night. He’d been given a bunk in the bunk house with the other workers but he took his blankets outside every night he could, his dreams disturbing the others no matter how exhausted he was.

                They threw random chores at him waiting to see when he would stumble but he’d worked with horses in the circus and after elephants, cattle were easy. The other workers hassled him most evenings about not speaking when he screamed easily enough each night but only one or two were mean about it. Clint did his best to avoid them but as with most of his life, trouble seemed to seek him out.

                He spent most of his nights walking the fence lines and finding a quiet corner to catch a few hours of restless sleep in. He thought he was doing better if only slightly. He was working and eating better at least which added back some of the muscle he’d lost in the months since Loki.

                When they finally confronted him in front of the rest of the workers one night, shoving him and knocking his dinner plate away with barking laughter he reacted without thought. Fifteen years of training had them down and bleeding in five seconds. He glanced up to see the rest of the workers watching him in varying degrees of shock and horror.

                Staggering out of his fighting stance, Clint ran to the bunk house. A few people followed him babbling at him in Spanish he didn’t bother trying to translate, letting the sounds wash over him. He grabbed his still packed bag and started walking ignoring the foreman’s wife who tried to give him food and money. He let the handful of dollars she pressed on him fall to the ground as he walked on into the gathering darkness.

                It took a few days but he finally caught a ride to the coast and a midsized town. He knew he needed to find work if he wanted to eat anytime soon but he just couldn’t make himself care. His dreams were full of blood and crawling over the bodies of his friends and family only to come to a stop at Loki’s feet, he smiled at him and cooed that he was such a good hawk returning to his master’s fist.

                His dreams got steadily worse sending him running from them each day before sunrise. He started hitchhiking steadily working his way around the country with no real plan except that he needed to keep moving. He’d kind of thought that Shield and Natasha would have found him long before he got this bad but it looked like they’d been busy. He watched the fall of the triskelion from a tiny truck stop in Denver.

                Clint stumbled his way to the pay phone outside and dialed a number he’d been trying to forget since he left New York. A disconnected message filled his ear, leaving him hanging on to the phone long after it clicked off. Shield was gone, Natasha was fighting Hydra, Steve and Director Fury were dead. He was a half crazy guy with a bow, two twenties to his name, and not much else. How the hell was he going to help?

                He could try and get a hold of Stark but he was still rebuilding from his battle with the Mandarin. Banner had been headed back to India last he heard and the Hulk wouldn’t be able to do much without destroying half the nation. In the end none of that mattered. He was making his slow way back to New York when Hydra caught up with him.


	7. Ch. 7

#  Ch. 7

 

                He’d fought hysterically the first time they chained him. He was too valuable a catch to kill or maim so they trussed him up too tightly for him to do any damage. The silver muzzle had to put on after he’d been sedated; he’d thrashed and bit at anyone near him.

                They tried to interrogate him a few time but he was too far gone to even attempt to answer. After having to fight him back into the muzzle a few times they just left it on. He was kept chained in a special cell deep underground and feed through a feeding tube they’d placed on his stomach.

                He lost track of time in the dim cell, the guards left him alone after he stopped reacting to their taunts and prodding. It was hard to remember that he had to keep going, to remember to drink the water they poured over his mask, to sleep and not lose himself in the memories and pain. It was hard to remember that there was anything else outside these four walls and the chains wrapping his skin.

It took weeks but word got out that a Hydra cell was bragging it had caught Hawkeye and driven him mad. Steve and Natasha took up the hunt but it was almost two months since his capture when they finally found the base he was being held in.

“You sure this is the right place?” Sam asked fiddling with the straps for his wings.

“All the rumors lead here. We have to check.”

“You’d think he’d be somewhere with some actual defenses.” Tony said over the coms as he scanned the place in a cloaked fly by, “No missiles, no radar, and no big guns. Looks like a cake walk. I still can’t believe Katniss managed to slip past Jarvis and get out of New York. He was working right outside the damn tower for a week straight before he bolted. ”

“All the more reason for us to be careful,” Steve said fighting not to snap at the rambling man.

“Stop arguing. I’m heading in, if you want to join the party it’s up to you.” Natasha said from her spot near the gates.

                They moved quickly through the base taking out guards, most of the rooms they passed were empty. The place looked like it had originally been a field base that was quickly converted into a prison. The fighting was quick and dirty, none of the soldiers stood a chance against a determined Black Widow and the rest of the team.

                They reached the last cell and Steve exchanged a glance with Sam, if he wasn’t here they would have to start all over. The thick door groaned open to reveal a man kneeling in the middle of the floor. A thick metal collar connected by a short chain to a bolt in the floor forcing him to crouch.

                He shifted slightly as they entered looking up through ragged dirty hair. He was gault and filthy but Natasha would know those eyes anywhere she threw herself to her knees behind him fighting with the cuffs that connected his hands and feet leaving him hobbled.

“I’ve got you, Clint. We’re going to get you out.” She said fiercely working at picking the locks, “Steve, get that thing off his face.”

“Right, I’ll watch the door.” Sam said, turning away and activating his com to let Tony know they had the right base.

                Steve and Natasha helped carry the hobbling man out through the base. Sam flew ahead and brought the jet down to meet them. Clint Barton watched them silently through it all, letting them clean his wounds and drinking the water when they set it against his lips but not interacting in any way or acknowledging them at all.

“I copied the main computer database from their servers. The recordings aren’t pretty, but the main complaint was that nothing they did could get him to react or say anything, at all.” Tony said watching as Natasha bandaged his wrists.

“He wasn’t speaking?” Steve asked, moving over so that Sam could take a seat next to him now that the plane was on auto pilot with Jarvis keeping an eye on things.

“Not a word, apparently it freaked out the guards and they mostly left him alone.” Tony said fiddling with a tablet.

“Fuck.” Natasha muttered biting her lip as she watched the man sitting limp where they had left him.

“Care to fill the rest of the team in?” Steve asked with a frown as she carefully got Clint to pull his knees up and wrap his arms around them.

“It’s not in his file, Fury promised to bury the information as long as he worked for Shield.” She said pulling him sideways against her so his head rested against her shoulder. “This doesn’t go outside the team, understood?”

“Yeah, we’ll get Jarvis to bury the footage but we need to understand what’s going on.”

“Clint was sold into slavery at fifteen.” She said softly running one hand through Clint’s hair even if he didn’t react to it. “His owner was William Cross. Tony, you probably know him as the head of Crossfire Industries. Clint was Cross’ personal assassin and slave for seven years before Shield freed him.”

“Shit.”

“While he was captive he was never allowed to speak, he regresses sometimes when he has a very bad mission. It can take a while to get him to snap out of it.”

“How long exactly are we looking at? I mean, how long does it normally take?”

“For a bad mission it’s only a few days normally but Hydra had him for weeks. It might take longer this time.”

“Do we need to get him a therapist or someone to talk to once he starts talking?”

  
“I don’t know. Coulson was always the one to deal with Clint when this happened. He showed me what to do in case he had a relapse during a mission but it never was this bad. He normally didn’t fall apart until after he got back to Coulson.”

“I’m not the biggest proponent of therapy,” Tony said with a grimace, “but I have a few names I can call. We might as well get a few official options just in case he doesn’t just snap out of it this time.”

“I can add a few names to the list if you want.” Sam said watching the catatonic man with a worried look.

“The more the merrier.” Tony said with a snort.

“What’s the normal routine for his recovery?”

“Generally, Coulson offers comfort and reminds him to talk. He follows a strict schedule for a few days, everything is regimented, bathroom breaks, meals, you name it. He knows ASL and would sign sometimes when it was too hard for him to speak; it came in handy on a few missions.” She said with a shrug.

“So reminding him to speak but offering an out before he has a melt down?”

“Exactly,” Natasha said nodding, “He often acted submissive to Coulson, kneeling at his feet or leaning against his legs but it wasn’t sexual.”

“Kinky.” Tony muttered under his breathe.

“He was a slave and plaything, Stark. It took him years to be comfortable around men who were in positions of power over him; I was always surprised at how easily he accepted Coulson’s authority.”

“Transference,” Sam murmured, “All he knew was being dominated by a man, his boss and owner, Cross. When Shield rescued him it threw his world into a tail spin so he transferred that obedience to the man who saved him, Coulson.”

“He didn’t see Coulson as his owner, he worked for Shield.”

“Does it really matter, guys? Coulson’s dead. It’s not he’s going to be able to help this time.”

“That might not be completely correct.”

“Which part?”

“Coulson liked to alert us when he had to go into a cover. We each had specific actions or phrases he would perform to let us know he was telling a lie. He said one right before he went to go fight Loki. I thought Fury would make the big reveal when he faked his own death but he didn’t.”

“Wait, you think Agent Coulson is still alive?”

“I think it’s possible.” She said with a shrug, “So far I haven’t had any evidence to disprove my theory.”

“How exactly do we prove he isn’t? It’s not like we have a grave to dig up.”

“No, but we do have all the information that the Widow dumped onto the internet.” Tony said rapidly typing on his tablet, “I’ve been trying to organize the mess, and I’ll get Jarvis working on it when we get back. There might be something hiding in there that can give us a direction at least.”

                The next two weeks were tense as the team searched for information on Agent Phillip J. Coulson while watching Clint and waiting for him to recover. They celebrated at breakfast the first morning he slept more than four hours and when he managed to make it through a shower without Natasha promoting him through every step.  Each victory seemed tiny and commonplace but they hung on to them hoping their team mate and friend was returning.

Mostly, the archer dozed in a nest of blankets on the floor of his bedroom or on the common level next to the windows. They’d stopped trying to get him into a bed after Steve moved him on night while he was asleep and he had an utter melt down when he woke the next morning. It took hours for Natasha to calm him down and get him out from under the shelves in the closet where he’d bolted.

                Jarvis was indispensable as the days wore on. Steve, Sam, and Natasha tried to take shifts but Clint shied away from the other men, refusing to let them near enough to touch him. Steve had tried to help get the silent man dressed one morning only to wind up chasing him around the room with a shirt.

“I know this shouldn’t be funny but you two are ridiculous.” Sam said with a grin as Clint retreated to his nest while Steve tugged at his hair in frustration blowing out a breath.

“You try it then.” Steve said with a sigh, tossing him the shirt.

“He’s wearing pants, going without a shirt won’t hurt him, Steve. Let him calm down and let’s see if we can get him to eat something. Jarvis will keep it warm enough so he’s not cold.”

“I really don’t know how much we’re going to be able to help when he’s constantly running away from us.”

“At least he’s moving.” Sam said, handing Steve a cup of coffee. “It’s an improvement over the catatonia.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with a sigh, “It’s only been two weeks; he has made a lot of progress.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Sam said with a grin, tugging Steve with him into the den, “Jarvis, can you try asking Clint to eat breakfast? He might let you since he can’t see you around.”

“I shall try my best, Agent Wilson.” Jarvis said, “Agent Barton? Mister Barton? Master Clint?”

                Clint sat up blinking and glancing around him like he was unsure of where the voice was coming from.

“Breakfast is ready, Clint. Would you like some?” Jarvis asked gently, “Agent Wilson has made pancakes for you. They are on the bar in the kitchen if you would like some.”

                Clint slowly stood uncertainly, wavering on his bare feet, undecided. Jarvis continued to prompt him and he slowly made his way into the kitchen to Steve’s surprise. Sam gave him a grin and tapped his mug against Steve’s.

“Here’s to progress.”

“He’s still not speaking or responding to us without flinching.”

“Baby steps,” Sam said with a shrug, “He’s eating pancakes at eight in the morning in the kitchen. It also means Jarvis can keep an eye on him if we get called out.”

“At least we know he can defend himself.” Steve said ruefully rubbing at his arm; Clint had given him a compound fracture when he tried to touch him during a panic attack the fourth day back.


	8. Ch. 8

#  Ch. 8

 

                Clint woke early, the windows still showing dark storm clouds. Jarvis helpfully brought up a few dim lights when it was clear he wasn’t going to back to sleep. He sat in his nest of blankets and rocked for a time his eyes tracing the lines of the buildings he could see.

                He knew he head was a mess, full of half remembered punishments, rules, and pain jumbled and fragmented until he didn’t know which parts were real or past. He eyed one of the couches before he remembered how Cross had punished him for touching any of the furniture without permission. That was the problem, who was he supposed to be asking for permission?

“Jarvis?” Clint managed to choke out, gripping his arms hard as he shivered waiting for a blow to fall.

“How can I help you, Master Clint?” Jarvis asked gently raising the lights so that Clint could see he was alone in the room. Clint whined in frustration when he couldn’t force the words out.

“Would this help?” Jarvis asked, popping up a touch activated keyboard on the window next to him. Shakily he began typing his questions but most of them Jarvis was at a loss to answer.

-Owner?-

“I am not sure what you are asking, Master Clint.”

-Shield?-

“Shield no longer exists, sir. It was dissolved entirely by the government after the crash of the triskelion.”

-Phil?-

“The others are still trying to locate Agent Coulson.”

-Rules?-

“Do you mean the rules for the tower?”

                Clint shook his head, and then nodded after a moment. That wasn’t what he was asking but he needed to understand that as well. He needed to know what he was allowed to do, who he was supposed to take orders from, who owned his collar now that Shield and Phil were gone. He’d follow Phil’s rules for now but he needed to know what he was expected to do.

                He knew it couldn’t be Natasha. She was trying to let him lean on her but she needed him at her back and fighting by her side, not on his knees at her feet. Steve and Sam were just as uncomfortable as Natasha and he couldn’t make himself trust them to understand what he needed at times. Tony actually seemed to understand the way Clint needed to submit and be owned but he was with Pepper who did not and Clint would not mess up someone else’s life because he was a wreck.

“I can give you the rules the staff and robots use while in residence but Agent Romanov might be able to answer this question better than I am currently able.”

                Clint nodded and set the matter to the side for the moment. He’d spent the last year without a master; he could go on for a while longer on his own. He fiddled with the keyboard until he figured out how to do internet searches and started looking up what he’d missed in the last few months. With a bit of work he started marking articles with notes and tags, creating a timeline for events and people so he could see how the long view played out.

“Jarvis, why am I getting alerts to my phone that every server in the system in every country is slowing down? What exactly do you need that much processing power for?” Tony snapped stalking into the room with the rest of the team following only to stop in shock as he registered the holograms covering every inch of the room.

                Clint sat at the windows working steadily while Jarvis sorted and compiled the articles and notes he was making into a massive web of data floating about the room.  Steve and Sam moved slowly into the kitchen setting their bags on the countertop while Tony pulled up an interface on one wall and started querying the data.

“What do the colors mean, exactly?” Steve asked slowly as they unpacked the lunch they’d brought.

“Each web consists of a timeline and network of articles and events that happened to a specific person or company. The green threads concern Dr. Banner and the Hulk; the red lines are events involving Ironman or Master Stark, blue are Captain America or Steve Rogers, black involve Agent Coulson, purple involve Agent Barton, yellow involve Agent Romanov, and the top two webs involve Shield and possible Hydra interference.”

“Yes, but why did you start compiling everything?”

 “Master Clint started asking for information concerning the articles and added short notes to each article denoting who was involved. To track his progress I constructed a time line for each person noted in the article. When he realized this, his notes started changing to include more information, military personnel, political figures, ect.”

“Clint always did like keeping an eye on the big picture.” Natasha said with a sigh, “How long has he been at this, Jarvis?”

“He has been working steadily since two this morning.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She said grabbing a bottle of water and crouching next to Clint, “Time for a break, Clint.”

                She bumped him with the bottom of the bottle until he glanced at her. She caught his face before he could turn back, forcing him to look at her. “You need to get cleaned up and drink this. You can keep working after lunch.” He frowned and turned back to the wall to keep working but Jarvis helpfully blanked it making him scowl.

“Go get cleaned up.” She said pulling him to his feet and giving him a shove towards the bedroom. He disappeared into the bedroom while the others started unpacking the meal, Natasha coming over and taking a seat at the bar.

“At least he seems to be coming back to himself.” She said with a sigh, “That means we need to start forcing him to talk soon.”

“Well, talking or not he’s impressed me.” Tony said, gesturing to the tangle of data, “He’s mapped out every instance where Hydra might have interfered publicly with policy, Shield missions, or even with stock market values. He’s got Jarvis running searches I would have never thought of trying to connect Hydra to this many politicians. With this we can start exposing the rest of the assholes.”

 

***

                Clint blinked at his disheveled image in the mirror, Phil would have been horrified. One of the first rules the agent had given Clint was to keep his appearance and gear clean and within Shield standards. He rummaged until he found a razor and shave cream, pulling out the trimmer and its guards so he could cut his hair as well. Showered and clean he dug through the closet for his go bag that Natasha had brought. For now he ignored the weapons but he wanted the familiar feel of his uniform right now.

Showered and clean he dug through the closet for his go bag that Natasha had brought. For now he ignored the weapons but he wanted the familiar feel of his uniform right now. His boots were left to one side but he pulled on the socks and a thick black oversized sweater he’d always used at Phil’s since he liked to keep the place cold.

He eyed the room with a frown; Phil would have wanted him to put things back. He slowly made the bed before going back to the bathroom and starting to wipe things down. Jarvis directed him to where the new towels were and stopped trying to get him to stop at least, Clint kept his body moving needing to see some task finished.

“How’s he doing in there, Jarvis?” Natasha asked, starting to make Clint a plate.

“Master Clint is currently cleaning the bathroom. I tried to assure him that the robots would take care of this task but he seemed determined to complete it.”

“It’s alright, Jarvis. Let him work, it just means he’s falling back onto the rules he had when he first started with Shield.”

“What rules would they give him exactly?” Sam asked pouring himself out a drink.

“Mostly it’s the same that would be expected of a new recruit though Coulson edited a few of them for Clint; keeping a clean room, equipment, and appearance as regulated by the Shield Manual, keeping up his training regimen, eating at least two meals a day, that kind of thing.”

“Earlier Master Clint asked for the rules of the tower, I was not sure how to address this and advised him to ask you, Agent Romanov.”

“I’ll figure out a list he can use here, Jarvis.” She said with a sigh, “He just wants structure and needs to know if he’ll be punished and how for any infractions. Coulson was always very careful to be consistent with him when it came to his rules.”

“Right, what kind of rules does he need?”

“He won’t be punished for anything without a formal warning and time given for the punishment with a set time limit and set list of possible punishments.”

“Shit, we don’t want to punish him!” Tony snapped.

“Everyone screws up eventually. Clint’s not like everyone else, he takes things said to him personally. You can’t just scream at him and expect it to be over the next morning, Tony. Clint doesn’t work that way. He just keeps waiting for his punishment unless someone tells him it’s over.”

“How did it used to work with Shield?” Sam asked.

“Normally Coulson would handle the punishments. If he got into an argument with someone or messed up on a mission he would discuss it with Coulson and he’d be the one to decide what punishment Clint had earned.”

“I think we can all agree that none of us want to be responsible for giving out punishments to a teammate,” Steve said with a sigh, “I can do it but you’re going to have to explain Coulson’s system to me.”

“What if we let Jarvis do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“None of us want to be in a position of power over a friend but Jarvis is outside the group. He can be given Coulson’s system and we make it a rule that whenever Clint feels like he needs to be punished that he had to explain the situation to Jarvis and he will tell him his punishment. We can monitor how it goes and if Jarvis is uncertain of a punishment he can go to one of us for help.”

“I’m not sure I would be comfortable punishing a human, sir.” Jarvis said joining the conversation.

“What if the punishment was reading a book? Or being banned from the gym for a day?” Natasha asked, “Most of the punishments Phil gave out were meant to get Clint to think he’d been punished, not actually physically punish him. I’ll get a list together of the situations I knew up and what his punishments were. The worst I ever heard of was taking away range time or making him do chores.”

“I would be willing to attempt monitoring Agent Barton but I would like someone reviewing any punishments he requests each week.”

“I can do that.” Steve said with a nod, mentally adding it to his schedule.

                Clint came out of his room and shuffled over to where Natasha stood letting her steer him to a chair at the bar. They let him eat in peace, the others moving into the den area and settling down with a movie while Tony continued to work at the bar sifting through data.

“We have a few questions we need answered, Clint.” Natasha said getting him another drink, “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah.” Clint muttered eyes on the table where he was pulling up a new search window.

“We think Tony’s figured out where Coulson is. Would you be okay by yourself for a few days while we track him down? Jarvis would still be here to help.”

“Okay.” Clint said hands signing ‘Go get Phil. Keep safe.’

“You’re okay staying here?” she pressed needing to make sure he wouldn’t try to follow them.

                Clint struggled, signing out a few fragmented words, Sorry, Safe, Hurt, Stay, Phil. He knew he was too messed up right now to help in a fight. He’d just slow them down if something happened. They needed to help Phil so Clint needed to stay here. Natasha let him fight with himself for a long moment before pulling him against her and rocking him gently until he gave up.

“We won’t leave until the morning. Think about what you want to say and type it up later, alright?”

                Clint nodded miserably, and pulled away going back to his nest next to the windows. He probably could force himself to compartmentalize if he had to fight but it would mean dealing with more nightmares and problems once he came down from the hyper focus he used during missions. He needed to get himself back together before Phil came back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***So I mixed up chapters some how, here is the real chapter 9. ***

 

 

#  Ch. 9

 

“How exactly is putting two mentally and emotionally damaged people on one floor a good idea?” Sam asked, hitting the button for the elevator.

“The floor has two suites; Bucky can stay with me in the extra rooms while Clint and Natasha stay in the others.” Steve said, supporting James ‘Bucky’ Barnes as they entered the elevator.

“Clint’s already not going to be happy since Coulson couldn’t come with us, I don’t know if throwing an unstable stranger in his face is a good idea.” Sam said, hefting his and Steve’s bags.

“Clint will understand about Coulson having duties he can’t leave and I’ll get them on the phone together later tomorrow.” Natasha said with a sigh, “For now we need to get dinner and get some sleep. We’re all too burnt out to deal with anything else tonight.”

“Good evening, Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, and Mister Wilson. I have alerted Agent Barton of your arrival. Dr. Banner is currently asleep and Master Stark is out at a late dinner with Miss Potts.”

“How is Clint, Jarvis?” Natasha asked moving to help prop the drugged assassin up between her and Steve.

“Agent Barton has been speaking progressively more however he is still not sleeping as I would like. He wished to know if you wanted dinner, he is reheating the leftovers of his last meal if you wish?”

“That would be great. Tell him we’ll be up once we clean up.” She said with a sigh, following Steve as they lugged Bucky into the lab area. “Can you wake Bruce up? We might need his help and let Tony know to find us when he gets in.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner says he will be down shortly.”

“When did Bruce get back?”

“Dr. Banner arrived yesterday morning. I have informed him of the situation with Agent Barton in general terms but he wished to see the full medical records to see if there was something he could assist with.”

“Grant him access, Jarvis. We need all the help we can get at this point.” Natasha said with a grunt helping dump Bucky onto the bed in the Hulk tank.

                Once Bucky was settled she went to her rooms to clean up quickly before going to check on Clint. He was in the kitchen just dishing up several plates full of chicken parmesan and baked ziti, comfort food for the archer. She sided up and gave him a quick hug.

“Thank you for dinner, Hawk. Let me take a plate down to Steve and his friend.”

“Friend?” Clint asked, watching as she loaded a tray down with enough to feed two super soldiers.

“The Winter Soldier really is Bucky Barnes, Steve’s friend. Coulson helped capture him and we’re keeping him in the Hulk tank until Tony can check out his arm. Coulson is going to give you a call in the morning, he’s got injured on his team and can’t come to New York right now.”

Clint nodded and added several bottled waters to her tray. “Phil’s alright?”

“Yes, he wasn’t injured in the fight. Mostly it’s damage to the base they were staying on. We think the Soldier was trying to track down Steve and found Phil instead.”

She took the tray down to Steve before returning to sit with Clint for a while. Bruce had checked in a few times but mostly Clint had been left alone in the two weeks it had taken for the rest of the team to track down Phil Coulson and the Winter Soldier, not that they’d expected to find both of them trying to kill each other.

“He’s burning through the sedatives at an accelerated rate, it’s taking the Hulk tranquilizers to keep him down right now.” Tony said leading Bruce out of the elevator and into the kitchen. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the place, Legolas. Jarvis was telling me you’re doing better.”

                Clint shrugged in response, pushing a plate of ziti towards Bruce and a travel mug of coffee at Tony. Bruce started eating as he reviewed the files on his tablet pushing the relevant files Tony needed to work on his mechanical arm to Jarvis. They all ate quickly, stacking the plates in the dishwasher before disappearing to their own rooms or like Tony to his workshop. Pepper was staying at a different apartment in town until they were sure the Winter Soldier was safe or at least as safe as the rest of their damaged team could ever be.

                Clint started a query on the Winter Soldier and possible versus known assassinations he’d participated in with Jarvis. If the guy was hanging around the tower he wanted to know what he was capable of. Natasha didn’t like long range take downs but she could use a sniper rifle if she had to. He put in her normal range of accurate fire to start the searches and upped it to the more long range shots he’d taken for the second search, if the guy was a sniper he probably was as much a perfectionist as Clint about his shots.

                He’d finished most of the backlog of his searches leaving only each day’s news to hunt through which only took about an hour of the morning. Researching the Winter Soldier would give him something to do at least. He pulled up the files that Jarvis had on the mission and Phil now that they’d been to his hidden base.

                The fighters had been relying on Icer guns, trying to not kill the soldier since it was suspected that he was Bucky Barnes. Natasha had walked right in and shot him in the shoulder and knee, wounds that had already mostly healed in the days it took them to clean up and bring him back to the tower. The base had been trashed so Tony agreed to send more supplies and was heading back in the suit to assist with repairs and upgrades as soon as the Soldier was stable.

                The Soldier had been disinclined to talk to anyone other than Steve and so far he’d been the only one interacted with. Clint pulled up the camera feed in the tank and watched the two men eating for a while. The Soldier ate hungrily like the food might be taken away at any moment while Steve seemed to be savoring it, enjoying a meal he didn’t have to prepare. Both were responses to hunger, Clint had fought for each bite in the orphanages while savoring the meals Shield gave him since he knew they would always be available. They needed a way to show the Soldier that food would always be there if he was hungry. He sent a note to Steve’s phone to make sure there were snacks in the room for the guy.

“Clint, it’s time for bed if you wish to be up in the morning to speak with Agent Coulson.” Jarvis reminded him gently.

                Clint nodded, and closed down the spreadsheet he’d been working on. He glanced at the kitchen but the bots were already taking care of the countertops and the dishwasher was running. He forced himself to move into the bedroom and change into a pair of boxers and clean tee shirt before trying to get settled on the bed. He wanted to keep an eye on things from the main room but he needed to at least try and sleep a little if he was going to talk to Phil in the morning.

                A few hours later he was back in the living room watching the feed to the Hulk tank. Steve was either asleep or really good at pretending to sleep while the soldier paced to one side, his mechanical arm limp at his side. Knowing Tony by the morning he’d have a completely new arm to install that would be safe of booby traps.

                He pulled up the latest data from the searches and started sorting articles once he’d set an alarm to make sure he started breakfast later for everyone. Natasha wandered in just as he started cooking with her normal timing. She helped chop the rest of the vegetables and cheese for the omelets he was making and he had just plated hers as everyone else started to trickle in.

“What do we have planned for today?” Steve asks as Clint shoved a tray with two omelets and a jug of orange juice at him.

“I’ve got a video conference to set up with Clint and Coulson, Bruce is going to finish reviewing everyone’s files, Tony is going to work on the arm some more, and you’re going back down to sit with your best friend.” Natasha deadpanned, putting her plate in the sink as Bruce shuffled in his head buried in a tablet.

“Jarvis, tell Tony breakfast is ready.” Steve said with a sigh, pick up the tray and heading towards the elevator.

“Sam?” Clint asked hesitantly, as he plated a veggie omelet for Bruce.

“Sam’s headed back to Washington this morning, he needed to check on his apartment and get some laundry done.”

“He should have just moved in like we said he could.” Tony said with a snort, coming out of the elevator and making a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Not everyone wants to live in a super hero commune, Stark.” Natasha said, pulling a protein shake out of the fridge and tossing it to Clint, “Drink that if you’re not going to eat anything.”

“Okay.” Clint muttered moving towards his nest near the windows.

“Tell me when you’re ready to call Phil.” Natasha said taking a seat on the couch with studied casual grace. Clint glanced between her and his nest for a long moment before joining her on the couch, Phil came first.

                She gave him an approving look and started fiddling with a tablet while he sipped his shake. Once he set the bottle aside she pulled up the projection system and dialed. Clint went still when Phil appeared before them, he looked tired and much older than Clint remembered.

“How are you doing, Clint?” Phil asked once the line had been connected for several seconds.

“Fine.” Clint said with a frown, he signed that Phil looked tired.

“I’m alright, we just have had a few busy days.” Phil said giving him the smile few people ever saw, “Tell Tony thank you for the supplies, we just received the first shipment.”

“He should be arriving tomorrow to help with the repairs. He wanted to make sure Barnes was settled in first.”

“How’s he doing?”

“So far he’s existing, he only really responds to Steve right now but Bruce thinks his memories are starting to return and whatever was done to wipe his mind should wear off in the next few months given the serum in his blood and the way his brain is remodeling itself on the scans.”

“Good.” Phil said with a firm nod before turning back to Clint, “What do you need, Clint? I can’t visit right now but hopefully in a few weeks I can come see you if you need it.”

“I’m good.” Clint muttered even as his hands shaped the signs for Phil, Safe, Good, Nest.

“Clint, you know the rules. I need you to say it for me.”

“Can’t.” Clint gasped, curling in on himself. His fingers stuttered through several mangled signs as he tried to force himself to explain how fucked up his head was since Loki.

“Could you write it out for me, Clint?” Phil asked gently when he finally gave up and started rocking himself. Clint nodded hesitantly rubbing at his face with one shaking hand.

“Then write it up in an email and have Jarvis send it to me. Does that sound alright?” Phil prompted relaxing visibly when Clint nodded in response, forcing himself to uncurl and sit like a normal person even if his hands were fisted in the hem of his sweater.

                Phil signed off soon afterward but promised to send Clint some files to add to his searches. Tony had shared the timelines Clint was building and Phil thought they might help outline some of their missions in the future. Phil also thought he’d be able to help with the Soldier but Clint kind of doubted that, tossing two brain damaged people together was just asking for trouble.

 

***


	10. Chapter 10

                Clint watched the Soldier shuffle into the room after Steve and tried to muffle a cough, just to make his life more miserable he’d picked up a cold from somewhere. Steve got the other man settled on a couch but he kept eyeing Clint who was curled up in his nest with a box of tissues.  He blew his nose and settled in, determined to ignore the other assassin.

                He people watched out the windows for a while absently noting lines of sight from the surrounding buildings for Jarvis while the others watched a ball game on the television. Clint got up to help with lunch since he was banned from the range and gym until he was better. He was shoed away from the kitchen with a drink and told to rest, he was pretty sure they just didn’t want to catch his cold.

                Tony was outright avoiding his floor until he was better and the surfaces disinfected. The last thing he needed was an infection or virus when his lung capacity was already limited thanks to the reactor. The Winter Soldier seemed to be watching his movements with a wary eye but hadn’t approached him for anything yet.

                It was late that night when the soldier plunked a bowl of something down next to his nest before retreating back to the couch. Clint scrambled away at the click of the bowl hitting the wood flooring, still half asleep and drugged up with cold medication. He coughed, slowly curling back up and eyeing the bowl sitting steaming to one side, it looked like chicken noodle. He blew his nose and sniffed, smelled like chicken noodle soup, out of the can like his mom used to make.

“Not trying to poison you.” Bucky said fiddling with the laces on one boot, “Steve liked it when he was sick.”

“Why?” Clint asked signing the word at the same time since his voice was wrecked.

“You’re sick, figured you needed it.” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Nothing’s free, what do you want?” Clint asked slowly forcing the words out, the soldier had to have an reason for trying to cure him.

“You to stop coughing and keeping me awake, making me have nightmares of when Steve still had asthma attacks.”

                Clint took the soup and sipped at the thin broth. It didn’t taste like it was poisoned and considering how miserable he felt it couldn’t exactly get much worse. He ate about half and settled into a light doze watching the clouds reveal and hide the moon out the window over and over.

                When the others came in and started to make breakfast the bowl has disappeared. Figures that the other spy and assassin in the tower would be able to out sneak the more human one. Even on his worst days he always heard Natasha before she reached him, he hadn’t noticed at all when Bucky moved.

                Steve herded Bucky into his suite for a shower while Natasha did the same for Clint. He really didn’t appreciate the comparison. Clean and dressed in his normal black tactical pants and a purple tee he let her shove him into a recliner while she and Bruce fixed breakfast. Bucky and Steve were on the couch watching some old movie.  

“You sound better his morning, is the medicine finally working?” Steve asked glancing up when Clint was digging in a pocket for a handkerchief.

Clint shrugged and blew his nose, Natasha had thrust a handful of pills at him a few times a day most of the week, with or without them he was probably just getting over his cold finally.

“Did you want to try and do anything today? We could go out for lunch or to a movie if you feel up to it later.” Steve said glancing between Clint and Bucky.

“No.” Clint said shaking his head and moving to his nest, he was not joining the mentally fucked up therapy group. He heard Steve sigh behind him but ignored it.

“You’re eating breakfast in the kitchen.” Natasha said flatly eying him with a flat expression. He nodded and settled into wait but she tapped the side of his head hard, “Say it out loud.”

“Fine.” He snapped pushing away and ignoring Steve and Bruce as he hit the stairs and made his way to the roof.

                He was so fucking tired of everything. Yes, he was broken. Yes, it wasn’t something that could be fixed magically in a few days like everyone seemed to think. He’d been broken and fractured since Cross and it only seemed to get worse the more missions and accidents that happened around him.

                He paced the roofline until he felt a bit more stable but couldn’t make himself go back to the others. They seemed to expect him to be the same person they’d known previously, the competent soldier who did what he was told and always made the shot. He still was that but they’d never seen him during his downtime when lines blurred and he struggled just to function.

                He needed the rules and regulations that Phil and Shield had given him to function. He’d slept in a nest of blankets in his closet for years now, he’d just never done it openly like he was now. He’d kept to his schedule and it was easy enough to close a door and hide the mussed blankets. He wasn’t sure if even Natasha knew of all the ways he struggled to cope with the reality he grew up in and yet the team seemed to think he’d just snap back to normal without much effort.

                The range was thankfully deserted and he settled in to organize and clean his weapons. Tomorrow he’d start back exercising and training, getting himself back in shape for the next mission. He’d get his schedule back in line and see if that helped.


	11. Chapter 11

#  Ch. 11

 

“We might have a problem.” Coulson said as the rest of the group gathered in the living room. Clint hovered to one side unwilling to have his back to the pacing winter soldier who was at the windows.

“How can we help?” Steve asked, glancing between Bucky and the projection.

“It’s not us who has the problem.” Coulson said with a sigh, “We intercepted an offer of fifty million for anyone who captures Hawkeye alive and delivers him in one piece.”

“Do we know who made the offer?” Natasha asked, “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Not yet, I was hoping Jarvis and Stark could assist in the search.”

“Sure.” Tony said with a nod glancing to where Clint was frozen.

“Clint?” Natasha asked uncertain if he wanted support or comfort, he glanced at her before shifting into a more defensive stance as he slid into a mission headspace.

“It has to be Cross.” He said simply hands checking his weapons as he glanced to where his bow and quiver were stored, Natasha was already there pulling out their extra weapons and go bags.

“It’s been over ten years since you were taken away from him, would he still keep trying?” Bruce asked even as he considered his own constant pursuit with Ross.

“Hasn’t stopped him yet,” Clint said a shrug accepting his gear from Natasha, “He’s made a few plays for me while I was at Shield but Fury shut them down pretty quickly.”

“I’ll send you the files to review,” Coulson said with a sigh, “We never could get any charges to stick and Cross made sure there were no electronic or paper trails leading back to any of the attempts. Everything was done through middlemen and no name thugs. He’s protected by several well placed patrons both in the black market and legal sectors.”

“I’ll see what we can dig up.” Tony said with a nod, “Jarvis, lock down the tower for now, he might know you could be here given the footage from the battle that got leaked.”

“Or even from the information Shield dumped on the internet.” Natasha said with a grimace, “Most of the facts about the battle with Loki were left intact.”

“Why exactly would Cross want you now?” Steve asked, “Is it revenge or something else?”

“He thinks he owns me, Captain.” Clint said checking over his bow, “He doesn’t take well to people messing with his stuff.”

“So are we guarding or taking the fight to Cross?” Bucky asked flexing his hands while he paced.

“Right now we don’t even know for certain it is Cross until he makes a move himself. We’re just discussing options.” Steve said eying the assassin with a frown, “It sounds like Cross is offering money to anyone who’ll take a whack at us, we need to be prepared for anything.”

“And while you guys prep, me and Bruce are going to the lab. I’ll see what I can drag up on Cross.” Tony said a snort gesturing for Bruce to follow him to the elevator, “The man has horrible taste in suits the few times I met him but we never really did business with Cross Industries, kind of glad we didn’t.”

                Clint and Natasha settled next to the wall of start organizing and cleaning weapons so everything was in top condition and ready for use. After a short conversation with Steve, Bucky dropped into a tailor seat next to them and started stripping down and cleaning his rifles.

 

***

 

“The others are looking for you.” Bucks said pulling out his rifle and staring to break the weapon down and clean each part.

“Not looking that hard.” Clint said with a snort from his spot on one of the I-beams of the range ceiling.

“They don’t want you going out without backup until we catch Cross.”

“So what, you’re my new body guard? No, thanks.” Clint said shifting further back into his dark corner.

“I’m just here to use the range.” Bucky said with a careless shrug, “Steve isn’t letting me out without him anytime soon anyway.”

                Clint didn’t bother to reply, dropping to the floor and taking the stairs. He was tempted to head out just to prove he could but forced himself to catch the elevator two floors down and hitting the button for his floor. Natasha and Steve tracked his progress to the bedroom he’d been using without pausing their review of the tower’s security. The latest underground chatter has several groups eyeing the tower for an assault.

Clint had already given his own list of updates to the tower security not long after he arrived but Tony was paranoid and built the tower to limit attacks in the remodel after the Battle of New York, there weren’t many things to correct. Jarvis could drop blast doors over the windows on every lab and living area in three seconds and tranquilizer dart guns were mounted on all the research and lab floor along with fire suppressant systems that removed the oxygen from a floor. Thanks to Jarvis they had a 24/7 surveillance system with enough backup generators that even if the power was cut the attackers would almost have to bomb the basement server levels to sever his control of the tower.

Shield had already scooped up two hacker teams that had tried to infiltrate the tower systems. Both were funded by small time crooks counting on the hackers to get proof that Clint was hiding in the tower. Coulson had handed them over to the authorities after the interrogators just proved they were incompetent crooks trying to cash in on the reward Cross offered. There was nothing to tie them to Cross directly so they had no reason to hold them.

“Agent Barton, you are needed in the main room.” Jarvis said breaking in to Clint’s pacing.

“How fast are they coming in?” Tony asked from a projection, he was still in the lab with Bruce heading to the Hulk tank.

“They will be with in long range missile range in thirty seconds.”

“Jets?” Steve asked grabbing the guns Bucky passed him.

“Helicopters, someone didn’t bother to register a flight plan.” Tony sing songed gleefully.

“Sloppy.” Clint said exchanging a glance with Natasha.

“We can’t attack first.” Steve reminded them as the dots neared on the radar projection.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be prepared. Shields down and all personal floors sealed. Sound the fire alarm and get any other staff out of the building. Once everyone’s out, lock it down.” Tony said fiddling with a tablet.

“Blast shields deployed and in place on all windows. Fire alarm sounding and lower levels are evacuating. Helicopters are within long range missile range.” Jarvis said.

“Why aren’t they firing?” Buck asked as the helicopters continued to inch closer.

“They either don’t have the fire power or they’re waiting until they are closer so there’s less chance of a miss.” Clint muttered backing away from the screen. “Is it just me or are they speeding up?”

“They’re speeding up, it’s a suicide run. Get in the emergency rooms, now!” Steve barked shoving Buck toward the opening Jarvis activated in a back wall.

                The screech of steel and glass shattering filtered through the slamming of the emergency door letting in a puff of smoke and ozone before the door sealed. The lights flickered on revealing a good sized weapons cache, medical supplies, and some basic sealed rations stacked to one side. Clint glanced around cataloging things before focusing back on the sealed door. Tony activated a screen to one side and started reviewing the damage with Jarvis. The room was awash in flames and smoke that Jarvis was fighting with several fire suppressant robots. The other two helicopters were trying to land on the roof but several machine operated machine gun torrents were keeping them off.

“They’re eventually going to land, does this hole have a way out?” Clint asked trying to pick out the seams in the dim light.

“There’s a back hatch that leads down to the lab. We can regroup there.” Tony said with a hum as he surveyed the group, “Time to start the battle plan, Cap.”


	12. Chapter 12

                Stopping the takeover of the tower was laughably easy once they scattered about the floors. There weren’t well trained soldiers; they weren’t prepared for the level of abilities they were going against. Within thirty minutes the tower was cleared with Jarvis routing the invaders straight into trap after trap. The cleanup took longer.

                While the others plotted or helped rework the tower’s defenses Clint helped with the cleanup crews. He tried to hang around the others more but he was often at the edges of the group, in a dark corner working on his stark pad. They left him alone for the most part, thinking he was brooding about his years with Cross, pity they were wrong.

                Several more attempts had been made at the tower and at grabbing Clint the one time he’d been allowed out of the tower. Thankfully none of the latest attacks had been very damaging, they were just finishing up the repairs even with the work crews working around the clock it had taken weeks. Clint had stayed isolated in the new basement rooms that had been thrown together in the most defensible location besides Tony’s labs until Tony declared that they had to celebrate the finished repairs with a night out. He bought out a rooftop restaurant for the night and even Natasha enjoyed herself after they took out two waves of hired goon and half the restaurant staff.

                He curled in his corner perch in the living room watching the others below him as they had a movie night. Stark had installed sniper nests in each corner of the floor and a few of the other levels now had small cat walks along the high ceilings. He turned on his tablet and carefully continued outlining the next few months with Jarvis. The AI didn’t like his plan but he agreed that it was the only way to capture Cross and prove his guilt.

                The team continued to refuse to punish him and Jarvis refused to do more than give him chores. He’d caused this mess and he needed to fix it. He’d lived with seven years of abuse, a bit more pain wouldn’t make him any worse. His mind made up he glanced over the team, they’d learn to live without him quick enough if his plan failed. The message went out with a sort chime and he settled in to wait.

                He glanced at his wrist with a frown, the only thing that might mess things up was the adamantium bracelet that let Jarvis monitor his location and vitals via satellite. He had no way to remove it and only Jarvis’ assurances that he would refuse to reveal his location until the team had reviewed the entire plan. He really hoped he was right and that Cross wanted him useful and wouldn’t remove his hand to get the tracker off.

 

***

“Clint seems to be doing better lately.” Steve said watching from the kitchen while the archer disappeared in to his room once the movie was over.

“He’s faking it.” Natasha said with a frown turning back to her task, Steve continuing to dry bowls and glasses.

“Really?”

“Has he chatted over the coms or made sarcastic comments during the meetings?” She asked putting the clean popcorn bowls away and tossing Steve another beer before opening one for herself.

“No.”

“Then he’s faking it.”

“What do we do about it then?”

“Nothing, he’s waiting on something so we just have to wait him out.”

“Waiting on something? You think he’s waiting to get kidnapped?”

“I think he’s waiting on the end game. Cross has to bring the fight to him personally since all his goons are failing.”

“And if he doesn’t? If he stays to the random attacks?” Steve pressed, “Clint can’t stay locked up forever.”

“It’s just until we catch Cross.”

“And if we don’t catch him? Shield never was able to make any charges stick. What if we catch him and he walks free again? He can’t kill him outright with public opinion the way it is now. They’d crucify the team.”

“Then we prove he needs to die.” She said flatly.

“Natasha,”

“He hurt, Clint.” She snapped slamming a cabinet closed and turning away, “I’ve been asking Shield for years to be allowed to take him out. I’m done asking.”

 

***

“So the Hawk is tired of playing,” Cross murmured with a grin turning to the man kneeling next to his desk, “Finish setting up the rooms for our Hawk, we’re going to have the delight of his company soon.”

“Yes, Master.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my blog for more of my writing at  
> www.blueinkasides.wordpress.com  
> www.offthemarkandroaming.wordpress.com
> 
> Check out my Amazon Author page:  
> http://www.amazon.com/Amelia-Sides/e/B00GB070BA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1


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